


You Can Tell Me Anything

by Izzygrace07



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Amami being a good person, Anxiety, Blackmail, Bullying, Claustrophobia, Dreams, Embarrassment, Fake videos, Fluff, Help, Kindness, M/M, Maid dress, Minor Injuries, Panic Attacks, Perverted characters, Pink Panties, Restoration, Shinguuji being a dick, Tears, Teasing, Uniforms, unwelcome touching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 11:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10695642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzygrace07/pseuds/Izzygrace07
Summary: All Saihara wanted was to have friends in school. However, that goes completely out the window when he is suddenly blackmailed with a video. Now that he's forced into embarrassment, there's nothing he can do.But that doesn't mean that someone won't be there to help him out, even without knowing all the details.I clearly can't do summaries, so I don't know why I tried XD





	1. Blackmail

Saihara's P.O.V

Saihara knocks lightly on Shinguji's door, the sound echoing lightly into the hallway. Moments before, the detective had run into Akamatsu, the pianist telling him that Shinguji wants to talk to me, and that Saihara should meet with him in Shinguji's room. "He told me it's something really important," she had said with a concerned face. Then she had smiled with her big, always beautiful smile and said, "Whatever it is, I hope everything is okay."

That's what Saihara is hoping too. He twiddles his thumbs, hoping he didn't do anything to upset Shinguji, or that the folklorist didn't get himself hurt.

Saihara feels a little bit of relief rush through his body when he hears Shinguji's voice answer, "Saihara-kun?" through the door.

He sighs, a small smile forming on his face. "Yeah. Can I come in?"

Silence.

"Shinguji-kun?"

No reply.

Worrying, Saihara presses an ear against the door. Through the thin metal, he hears what he believes is whispering. From the sound of it, it sounds like someone else is in the room with Shinguji, but Saihara can't identify who it is. Their voice is too soft for him to figure out who Shinguji is talking to. Then again, Shinguji could just be speaking to himself.

"Shinguji-kun, are you okay?" Saihara asks, anxiety slowly building up inside.

Finally, in a cheery voice, he hears Shinguji say in a monotonous voice, "Yeah, I'm fine. Come in."

Slowly, Saihara presses the button on console next to the door and it opens. As he steps through, it shuts behind him with a loud clanking noise, the sound making him wince with annoyance. The sound is very bothersome, especially to Saihara, someone who hates noise like that.

When he looks around Shinguji's room, he doesn't see anyone. The room looks deserted, the only sign of life being a smoking pipe sitting on his desk, smoke swirling from the end of it. He didn't even think Shinguji smoked. If the detective didn't know any better, he would think he had accidentally walked into Momota's room. Just looking at the pipe gives him a weird feeling in his stomach. Saihara can't even imagine using something like that, breathing in such unhealthy toxins to feel good. Although he himself is unable to understand the joy of it, he doesn't judge other people for liking it. After all, it's their choice to slowly destroy their lungs.

"Shinguji-kun?" He says, slowly walking through the room. No reply is received. He glances into the open bathroom as he pass by it, but Shinguji is nowhere to be seen.

Saihara turns the corner and sees Shinguji lying on his bed, looking up at the ceiling with a despairing look on his face. He looks worried, but it's hard to tell with his mask on. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks upset. Saihara stares at him for a few moments before walking toward him. "Um, Shinguji-kun?"

Shinguji turn his head toward him and his eyes shine with fear. "Saihara-kun, help me."

Saihara takes a step closer to him and asks, "Why? What happened?"

He sits up and turns away from Saihara, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. "It's Amami-kun," he says. "He's trying to steal something away from me. It's something...really important, really dear to my heart." His head slowly lowers and he mumbles, "Please, I need you."

Saihara can't even wrap his head around the idea. Amami being a thief? It doesn't sound like him at all, or like anyone in this school for that matter.

"Calm down," The detective says, walking towards him. He places a hand on the folklorist's shoulder. "I'll help you out. What's he trying to steal?"

Before Saihara can even process it, Shinguji grabs his hand in his own. He quickly stand up and swings the smaller boy around, pushing him onto the bed as the folklorist towers above, his hands pinning Saihara's wrists to the mattress.

Saihara's brain finally registers what has happened. "Sh-Shinguji-kun? W-What are you...?"

"You."

The word doesn't fully enter his head for a few moments, and when it does, the anxiety he had before returns. "...What?"

Shinguji smiles at Saihara with a devious grin. "Amami-kun is trying to steal you from me, but I'm not going to let that happen, you know? I don't want anyone to take you away."

Saihara can't help but just stare at the taller man with an eyebrow raised. If Amami was trying to "steal him" from Shinguji, whatever that meant, he didn't realize it.

The detective wriggles nervously underneath his captor. "I-I don't know what you're talking about."

Shinguji's grip around Saihara's wrists tightens as his eyebrows furrow with aggravation, and Saihara's heartbeat pulses through his hands. "So dense," Shinguji chuckles through his annoyance. "It doesn't matter if you know it or not. I will not lose you."

Saihara's fingertips tingle. "Shinguji-kun, stop! You're hurting me!"

A flash of mischievousness appears in the folklorist's eyes. He rests a hand lovingly Saihara's cheek and caresses it gently with his thumb. "Well, I can make you feel much better, if that's the idea."

Saihara's eyes widen as the words fall from his mouth and hit his ears. Sure, the detective can be dense, but he's plenty smart enough to understand where this is going. He can't possibly be serious about going through with this.

"But I-"

The words are cut off when Shinguji places his knee between Saihara's legs and pushes down onto his inner thigh. Saihara attempts, and fails, to stifle a gasp, causing his face to glow bright red from embarrassment. Shinguji's eyebrows raise with surprise and he chuckles.

"So, you're enjoying this, are you?" He murmurs deeply.

Saihara writhes underneath the folklorist's body, which helps him in no way regarding the situation. Shinguji is much bigger than the detective, and their positioning makes it even harder for him to free himself from his captivity.

"Please," Saihara begs, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he shifts his body, attempting to break free from the grasp on his wrists once again. “stop. You don’t have to do this."

Shinguji doesn't say anything. Instead, he pulls his mask down, revealing the other half of his always-hidden face. In an instant, his lips crash against Saihara's, moving forcefully and gracefully in a rhythm the latter can't understand. Saihara's eyes grow wide with panic, the rest of his body paralyzed with a fear he has never felt before. A wall of unknown emotions builds up inside of the detective, making his breathing unwillingly shallow and deep. He can see the feelings written across Shinguji's face, even though the folklorist's eyes are closed: excitement, nervousness, and power. A small whine rings out from the back of Saihara's throat, and his face heats up with embarrassment at the sound.

Shinguji pulls away with a satisfied smile, panting. "Thanks for the footage Saihara-kun."

Saihara doesn't reply to him, No, he just flat out can't reply. His face feels brighter than a thousand suns ever could shine, his whole body trembling with terror. Nothing is making any sense to him. Why is Shinguji doing this? Why is he talking this way?

What does he mean by "footage"?

"F-Footage?" The smaller boy stammers.

Shinguji looks over his shoulder and at the small white door that hides his closet. "Did you get all of that Amami-kun?"

To the detective's dismay, the door to Shinguji's closet opens and Amami steps out with a devious smile. Even worse, he's holding a phone in his hands, the flash still shining brightly. He was recording them from the closet.

"Amami...kun?" The words drag out of Saihara mouth, both in shock and perplexity.

Shinguji let's go of Saihara and climbs off of him, and Saihara sighs in relief as he feels the blood begin to circulate back into his hands. Shinguji puts his mask back on as he walks over to Amami and looks down at his phone screen, nodding.

"So you got all that?" The folklorist asks. Amami nods.

"I can have it sent to everyone in about fifteen minutes."

Those words don't take long to comprehend. As soon as Saihara hears them, he launches off the bed and runs over to them. "Wait, sent? Y-You're going to-?"

He stops as Amami's finger hovers over the share button.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six-"

"Wait!" Saihara yells, grabbing the blonde's arm tightly with panic. "Please don't!"

Amami just smirks at the boy, circling his finger over the button. "Five, four three-"

Desperation builds up, and Saihara falls to his knees, grasping Amami's hand. "Please, I'm begging you! Don't send it to anyone!"

"Oh, we won't yet," Shinguji replies with a small grin, kneeling down and placing a hand on Saihara's shoulder. "But we will. You know, if you don't do what we say."

Saihara scrambles backwards, out of Shinguji's reach. "A-Are you-?"

"Blackmailing you?" Amami interrupts. "Yes, that's exactly what we're doing. If you don't do exactly what we say, or you tell anybody about the video, we will send it to everyone we know, including Akamatsu."

The detective's head bangs with thoughts at the mention of his crush's name, all of them telling him the same story in his mind, one that makes him want to cry in agony. They share the video. Everyone sees it. Akamatsu sees it. She judges him. She ignores him. She hates him.

She leaves him.

She never loves him.

Saihara gulps back the sorrow as tears form in the corners of his eyes. "...Okay. I'll...do whatever you say."

Shinguji raises an eyebrow. "No matter how stupid?"

Regret builds inside Siahara, but he still nods. "No matter how stupid."

"No matter how humiliating?"

Tears pound against his eyes once again and go rolling down his face. "N-No matter how... No...matter how...h-humiliating."

Shinguji looks back at Amami and raises an eyebrow. "What do we do?"

Amami smirks evilly. "Let's give him the outfit."

Saihara wipes away his tears. "T-The outfit?"

"Trust me," Shinguji says, standing up, "when I say that you're going to look adorable in this."

~+~+~+~+~+~

Saihara grips at the end of his short black dress nervously. He attempts to pull it down lower with no luck, the end of the outfit half a foot above his knees.

The outfit is a French maid's uniform. It wasn't like the ones you would see in a hotel, but one that Japanese cosplayers wear in a Maid Café. These ones make it so that you reveal your...undergarments when you bend over. It's the one that causes nosebleeds among thousands of crazy men. It even has a lace choker and headpiece to match the frilly apron.

Now here Saihara is, standing in front of a full-length mirror while Amami finishes tying the apron strings into a big, fancy bow. Saihara knew that they were going to make him do stupid things in order to keep the video a secret, but he didn't think they'd do something so intense so quickly. The uniform is much too small on Saihara, the dress almost going a little to high for his comfort.

"There you go," Amami says, standing up. He places his hands gently on the detective's shoulders and glances past him, glaring into the mirror. A smile forms on his face and his eyes look misty. "Saihara-kun, you look absolutely beautiful."

Saihara's face heats up and he looks down, refusing to make eye contact with the blonde. He intertwines his hands in front of his body. "H-How long do I have to wear this?" Amami shrugs.

"I chose the humiliation, so Shinguji-kun chooses the time limit. It's only fair."

"What would be fair is deleting the video and letting me leave," Saihara mutters.

Amami laughs. "You're funny Saihara-kun," he says. He puts his hand low on the boy's waist and pinches, making Saihara gasp in surprise while his face burns. All this weird flirtatious stuff he's doing isn't what Saihara used to. He doesn't know why Amami's doing it or how to react to it happening.

"Two days," Shinguji calls from the closet as he pulls a pair of black, shiny heels down from the top shelf. Seeing them in his closet makes Saihara question why they're there in the first place.

Shinguji approaches the two and drops the shoes in front of Saihara, the metal clacking against the wood floors. They're tap shoes. He can only imagine that Shinguji's giving them to him because...he wants people to hear him coming. Amami and Shinguji want people to look in Saihara's direction, to see him in his ridiculous outfit. They want them to laugh at him, make fun of him, lose any and all respect towards him.

Saihara looks up at Shinguji with pleading eyes. "Please, you don't have to do this."

Amami's grip tightens on the smallest boy's shoulders, making him wince. "Do you want us to release that video out to everyone?"

Defeat washes through Saihara like a tsunami. He really can't do anything about this. He's trapped.

He slips into the tap shoes, the metal soles clicking lightly against the floor. They're much too small, and he has to grab ahold of Amami's arms to help keep his balance. Amami chuckles as he helps Saihara upright.

"You're a bit of a clumsy one, aren't you?" He asks in a soft voice. "No worries. You'll get used to them quick."

Saihara gives him an unsure look, but nods my head sadly with understanding. With a smile, Amami looks over at Shinguji and raises an eyebrow. Shinguji nods as he takes another step towards the pair. Saihara looks back and forth between the two with confusion, unaware of what kind of face-moving language they're speaking in.

Shinguji lifts him up by his right arm, and Amami does the same with his left. They carry Saihara to the door and Shinguji presses the button.

That's when the panic fully sets in.

His legs begin failing wildly, trying to break out of their grasp. "Please don't make me do this! There has to be something else I can do!"

They don't let go. They don't even say anything. As soon as the door opens, they toss Saihara out of the room. He lands on his stomach on the ground, groaning in pain from the impact. He slowly stands up, holding onto the wall for support. When he turns back towards the door, he sees Amami and Shinguji waving as it shuts, and he hears it lock.

Saihara's key card is Akamatsu, as he ask her to hold on to it while he was with Shinguji, so he can't get into his own room and hide away there. He can't hide in someone else's room, even if someone has their door unlocked. That'd be creepy. He can't just disappear for two days, since the school isn't big enough for him to do that. Someone is bound to find him eventually. That means that, eventually, someone is going to see him dressed this way.

Saihara leans against the door and slides down, pulling his knees to his chest and dropping his head into his arms as tears silently fall down his face. For the first time, he truly understands what defeat is, and, in his case, it's the worst feeling ever.


	2. Embarrassment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me suggestions for embarrassing things you want Saihara to go through! Let your minds wander and tell me what you got! Anything goes!

*Ouma's POV*

The hallways feel so empty. Well, they're usually empty, with there being only sixteen people living in this giant school, but they feel even worse than usual. 

Ouma decided that he would hide from Kiibo. Not in a mean way of course, but by playing hide and seek with him. Most high schoolers don't play hide and seek, but Ouma thought playing with a robot would be interesting, especially if Kiibo is never able to find Ouma. He wants to know what it will be like if a robot gets angry at such an easy kid's game.

Now Ouma is walking alone, heading to the dorms. His plan is to hide in Amami-kun's room, since that will probably be one of the last places he checks, and Ouma seems to be the only one to notice that Amami never locks his door. If Ouma locks it from the inside, then it'll seem perfectly normal, and Kiibo will get angry, and Ouma can see his reaction. Most people would call this a jerk move, but to Ouma, it is pure brilliance.

He makes it to the dormitories and stares at Amami's door with a smile on his face. He knows that this isn't technically considered fair, but it's for research, so anything goes, right? Ouma wants to learn all he can about Kiibo and how his robotic mechanics work. Maybe then he can use the design to create robots for his secret society.

He's about to press the button to the blonde's door when he stops. He can hear something, something that sounds upsetting. It sounds like...crying. He turns around and surveys the room, but doesn't see anyone. Shaking his head, he faces the button once again. This time, however, he doesn't even attempt to press it. The painful noises he's hearing had his interest piqued, and it's staying that way until he figures out where these sounds are coming from.

Not seeing anyone on the bottom floor, Ouma decides to go upstairs and see if it's coming from the second floor dormitories. He see the sight before he even make it to the top of the stairs.

Saihara sits in the hallway against Shinguji's door, his legs pulled up the chest and his face buried in his arms, trembling. However, his position isn't the first thing Ouma notices when he sees him. No, the first thing he notices is Saihara's outfit. His jaw drops as soon as he see the clothes he's dressed in.

It's a French maid's outfit. The dress looks like it only goes down half of his thigh, the frilly ends wrapping around his body in a way that makes Saihara look more feminine than he already does. A black, lace choker is wrapped around his neck, and a frilly headpiece is perched on his head. He has black heels covering his feet.

He's crying.

Ouma doesn't laugh. Usually he would be, and he always thought it would be hilarious to see Saihara in tears, but now that it's actually happening...he doesn't feel like laughing.

Ouma approaches him slowly, careful not to make any hasty motions, and crouches down in front of him.  
"Um... Saihara-chan?"

The detective's head flicks up so fast it makes Ouma's own neck hurt just seeing it. As soon as their eyes meet, Saihara's face turns a fiery shade of red. He tries to back away from Ouma, but he's already against the wall, making the effort useless.

"O-Ouma-kun!" He yelps. "I-I just- You- I can't-" He stops trying to explain the situation. Instead, his eyes quickly fill up with tears and begin pouring down his face. 

Ouma is taken aback by the scene. Saihara's eyes glow red before he shuts them tightly, looking away from the supreme leader with shame written on his face. His body shakes wildly, his shoes producing a faint clicking sound.

Tap shoes.

Ouma place his hand gently on his leg, unknowing what else to do in the situation. He doesn't want to say anything to him. After all, what is he even supposed to say? Instead, he wants Saihara to know that he's there for him. Although the actions feel weird to him, with him being the Ultimate Supreme Leader, he can't help it. Seeing Saihara like this doesn't make him feel as happy as he thought it would. In fact, it makes him feel the opposite. It actually makes him feel really upset.

"I found you Ouma-kun!" 

Ouma spins his head around and see Kiibo walking up the stairs, beaming at the small boy with a proud smile. If Kiibo made any noise coming up the stairs with those metal feet, Ouma definitely didn't hear it, otherwise he would have stopped Kiibo from coming up to the second floor. Ouma completely forgot about their game of hide and seek. He makes a mental note to try out that thing with Amami's room later, since he can't exactly see how he'll react right now.

Kiibo walks over to the boys and his smile vanishes into thin air. "Is that...Saihara-kun?"

Ouma doesn't answer. He just keep his eyes on the robot, internally praying that Kiibo won't do anything to make the situation worse. No matter how hard Ouma begs, however, his prayers aren't answered.

Kiibo bursts out laughing. His eyes scrunch and he grabs onto the railing, his amusement echoing throughout the the room. Ouma's eyebrows furrow slightly with aggravation. Yeah, Kiibo's a maturing AI, and Ouma knows that there are some things that he doesn't quite understand yet, but Ouma has known him long enough to know that Kiibo can tell when someone is upset. If he knows that Saihara is upset, then why is he laughing?

"Why are you wearing such an erotic costume?" The robot asks between chuckles. "I never would have guessed you were into something so pornographic. I see that I judged your character much too quickly. You really are promiscuous, aren't you?"

Ouma feels Saihara trembling even more than he was before under his light grip. The sound of Saihara's breathing is deep and shallow, and Ouma can hear him gasping for air through the tears. Hearing him this way, knowing that Kiibo has worsened Saihara's state, makes Ouma's heart break.

Ouma stands up and stare at Kiibo, his body filled with anger. "Leave him alone Kiibo-chan."

Kiibo stops laughing and raises an eyebrow at the boy. "Ouma-kun, the one person who always makes fun of people for no good reason, is telling me to stop making fun of someone?" He tilts his head, a tiny smirk on his face. "You are Ouma-kun, right?"

Ouma's hands curl into fists at his side. "Yeah, I am, and it doesn't matter. Stop making fun of Saihara-chan."

Kiibo's smile disappears and he furrows his eyebrows. His hand curls into a fist and he rests it on his chin as if he's processing the argument. "When someone is upset like Saihara-kun is currently, the best thing to do is refrain from making them feel worse. The words that I used to make fun of him made him feel worse. Therefore, what I am concluding is that I shouldn't make fun of someone who is upset because it will make them feel worse. Is this correct?" Ouma nods.  
Kiibo rubs his chin for a moment before frowning. "I see. If that is the case, please give Saihara-kun His sincerest apologies for making him feel worse."

With that, Kiibo turns around and walks down the stairs, leaving the dormitories. Ouma sighs with relief. While the robot can make things really difficult for others sometimes, Ouma knows he means well. Because of this knowledge, he can't stay mad at him for too long. It's not his fault.

Ouma turns back towards the detective and sits down next to him hesitantly. "Saihara-chan...are you okay?"

Saihara slowly lifts his head up and turns to look Ouma. His puffy eyes shine against his tear-stained face. In an almost inaudible voice, he whispers, "Th-Thank you, Ouma-kun..."

Ouma's body feels warmer just hearing the words leave Saihara mouth. "No need. I didn't like the way he was talking to you, and you were clearly upset with what he was saying. I guess it just wasn't clear to him."

Saihara nods his head lightly. "...I'm sorry."

Ouma's eyebrows raise. "What for?"

"For causing a problem," he replies, his voice broken.

"You didn't do anything wrong Saihara-kun," Ouma retorts. "Instead of saying sorry, can you explain why you're wearing a maid's outfit?"

Saihara looks down and shakes his head sadly. "I...can't tell you..."

Ouma's confusion reaches its peak. “Well, do you want to take it off?"

"Yeah..."

"Is that what's upsetting you?"

Saihara nods.

"Then just take it off."

"...I can't."

"Why not?"

"...I can't say."

That line makes Ouma freeze. The way Saihara said it makes it seem like he was told to keep quiet. Does that mean…?

"Is some-"

Ouma's cut off by Saihara's hand covering his mouth. His hand feels damp from the rubbed the tears out of his eyes. Ouma's about to pull it away when he see the pleading look covering the detective’s face, his eyes wide and full of desperation. When Ouma sees those eyes, he doesn't fight back, but decides to go along with Saihara's game instead 

"I'm sorry Ouma-kun," he says loudly, glancing at the door behind him nervously. "I...have to go. It was...nice seeing you..."

He slowly takes his hand away from Ouma's lips, mouthing a quick "I'm sorry" to him before standing up. Before the supreme leader can fully process what just happened, Saihara grabs his hand and starts walking quickly down the stairs, dragging Ouma behind him like a child dragging a rag doll, his tap shoes causing large clacking sounds to ring all around the duo. Ouma doesn't try to pull away from him. He finds Saihara's behavior strange, yes, but believes that Saihara has a purpose for acting such a way. What that purpose is, however, is unknown to the small boy.

Saihara takes Ouma through the school until we get to the basement. Every time they pass a doorway or another hallway, the detective quickly peers around the corner, searching for other people. It takes them much longer than it usually would to get to the basement, but of course it would. After all, Saihara wishes to stay hidden.

They end up in the library, standing next to a large pile of unorganized books in ranging genres. Nobody else is in the room, just as Saihara wanted. He appears to have calmed down on the way here. His eyes aren't as puffy, his face has returned to its normal color, and he actually seems a bit relieved. Seeing him this way makes Ouna want to hug him, and he don't know why.

"I'm sorry for, um, cutting you off when you were talking," Saihara apologies shyly, rubbing his arm. "I just..." He bits his lip, thinking. "...I knew that Momota was in his room, and...I didn't want him to come out and see me...this way."

"I understand," Ouma says. "So, if you don't want to wear the outfit, like you said you didn't, then why are you wearing it?"

Saihara scratches his wrist. "I...have to."

"Why?"

He shakes his head sadly and looks down, tapping the front of his shoe gently on the wooden ground. The faint sound pings off the walls of the library, sending the sound all around the room. "Ouma-kun...believe me when I say I want to tell you, but I just...can't."

Before Ouma can reply, the doors of the library burst open, followed by a wave of voices. They turn towards the doors and see a crowd of people enter the room: Iruma, Shirogane, Chabashira, Amami, and Gokuhara. They all chatter away with each other, laughing and waving their hands lightly as they speak.

Saihara takes a step back nervously, staring at the small group of people in the room. He glances around, like he’s looking for a way out of the situation, but there isn’t one. There’s no way out of this.

Ouma doesn’t even have time to try and help him, because Iruma suddenly yells, “What the fuck are you wearing?”

The room falls into silence as all eyes turn towards Saihara, whose face has turned bright red. He spins around and places his hands at the side of his face, trying to ignore the stares, but his anxious facial expression shows that it’s not helping.

“Saihara-kun?” Chabashira says slowly, taking a step towards the embarrassed detective. “Is that you?”

Saihara takes in a long, deep breath before slowly turning around to face the others, fidgeting with the fabric of his choker nervously. “H… Hi…”

The jaws of everyone drop to the floor as soon as they can fully see him. Gokuhara has to rub his eyes before staring with a completely dumbfounded expression. The black-haired boy's face slowly begins regaining its original color, seeing that everyone is silent.

That all changes when Iruma bursts out laughing.

“Wow, are you for real Saihara?” She exclaims, holding her stomach as a wave of giggles come from her mouth. “I would have never guessed that you would be into some so kinky. But aren't girls supposed to be the ones who wear the dresses?” She snaps her fingers. “Ah, I get it! You're gay, aren't you?” She begins laughing again. “Yeah, that's it! You're a kinky pervert looking for another kinky pervert, right?” That causes the whole group to erupt into laughs, all except Shirogane, who runs up to Saihara and starts running her hands along the arms and waist of the dress.

“What a beautiful costume!” She jabbers as she walks around him, studying the clothing. “The sewing lines are all stunning, the shape is fantastic, and it fits you so great!” She lowers her eyebrows as she reaches the back of the outfit. “Well, actually, this feels a little small on you… No, this feels really small on you Saihara-kun."

Iruma grabs Saihara's hand and pulls him toward the group, who're all interested in him and his choice of clothes. “Too small, huh?” She says, poking his side, Saihara wincing at the action. “Really small, too. Jeez, this is kinkier than kinky. I never knew you could be so erotic Saihara.”

“I-I…” The small boy's voice trails off as he looks at the ground sheepishly. An overwhelming wave of empathy washes over Ouma, and an intense feeling of agony slowly starts to build up inside of him. Saihara doesn't deserve this, not at all.

“A man dressing up in female's clothes?” Chabashira gasps as she reaches out to touch Saihara's shoulder. “That is the most despicable thing you can do!” She starts chuckling. “Even so, Tenko admits that it's still funny to see you this way.”

“You look rather beautiful,” Gokuhara says as he places his hands gently on Saihara's shoulders from behind. Saihara tenses up and gets out of his grasp. He tries to walk out of the room, only to be stopped by Iruma. The inventor suddenly drops to her knees and looks up the detective’s dress. Ouma’s eyes widen with shock while Saihara gasps, pushing the front of his dress down against his body as he takes a step back, pressing his legs together.

“I-Iruma-san!” He yells, his voice wavering in mortification.

“I knew it!” Iruma exclaims as she stands up. “I knew there was a reason I couldn't see your boxers! I should clearly be able to see them going past the dress, and I figured out why I can't!” She points an accusing finger at Saihara and shouts, “You're wearing panties!”

In that instant, Saihara's face skips from turning red and goes straight to purple. Ouma stares, never seeing Saihara in such a state before. If he's this embarrassed about her comment, then does that mean what she said is true?

“Panties?” Shirogane repeats.

Iruma nods and smiles a smug smile, a challenging expression on her face. “This little sex machine is wearing pink frilly panties underneath his nosebleed-inducing dress!”

And that’s when it happens.

Iruma marches up to Saihara with determination, her fingers wiggling at her side. When she makes it to him, she does the unthinkable: she pulls his dress up. Ouma's jaw drops at the sight, both at her actions and at Saihara. Sure enough, he’s is wearing...pink...frilly...panties…

Everyone roars with laughter at the detective, who yanks the black fabric out of the inventor’s hands. He stumbles back at the action, falling backwards onto the floor. The color of his face goes from purple to green. By now, Ouma is truly convinced that his whole face has the same powers as a mood ring, cause his face has changed so many different colors today. Seeing him like this makes Ouma want to wrap his arms around Saihara and never let go, tell him that everything will be okay. 

Tears quickly fill the detective’s eyes and begin dripping down his face, his body slowly beginning to shake uncontrollably. The group doesn't stop laughing, getting pure amusement out of the situation. Within an instant, Saihara scrambles to his feet and takes off for the door, the sounds of his tap shoes echoing miserably throughout the room.


	3. Kindness

*Saihara's POV* 

 

The school seems a little darker. The hallways seem to scream at Saihara, telling him how stupid he is as he runs through them, sprinting as far away from everyone as his legs will allow him to. His balance is uneasy in the heels, and he stumbles along the way, the sounds of the metal soles hitting the floor ringing loudly in the open space. 

The detective tries to ignore the tears that run down his face, but his mind won't let him. They make his head thump in pain every time his foot hits the floor. His heart beats wildly, both from exhaustion and emotions. He can hardly breathe, but keeps running anyways, no destination set. He just wants to get as far away as he can get from them. Saihara wants the group to forget they ever saw him this way, that they saw what he had to wear. With Amami there to see it all too. It’s just what Amami wanted: Saihara's humiliation.

As the raven-haired boy runs, he lands incorrectly on one of the heels and his ankle buckles beneath him and he falls to the floor, his knees rubbing harshly against the tiles. One of the tap shoes goes flying off of his feet, hitting a set of lockers. His teeth clench together, holding back a painful yelp.

Saihara doesn't look to see if he's hurt. Instead, he lets the pain course through his body. It feels awful, but he doesn't make it stop. Instead, he snatches the headpiece off of his head and chucks it as far as he can down the hallway, a ping of satisfaction coming from the sight of the accessory hitting the floor. Even so, it isn’t enough to drain the agony out of him.

The memories pound against his head, forcing him to remember the events that had just taken place moments ago. The way everyone laughed at him, teased him, hated him. Saihara can’t shake away the sight of shock on their faces when they saw him. The way their faces turned bright red, their eyes widened with too many emotions for the boy to count.

Tears start running down his face from both anger and sadness. He's never cried so much before, and now it’s catching up with him and making him feel really dizzy, his vision blurring slightly as his temples throb in pain. He helplessly looks down at the ground, an arm keeping him propped upright, and silently sobs, a few of his large tears hitting the floor. What else is he supposed to do? Amami and Shinguji have him backed into a corner, and there's no escape.  _ How am I supposed to beat them? _

Suddenly someone shouts to him from behind. “Saihara-chan!” They call. He doesn 't  look back, but recognizes the voice nonetheless. It’s Ouma. 

His shoes patter against the floor, becoming louder with every step he takes towards the detective. Saihara wants to get up and run away, never let Ouma see him again, but Saihara can't find the energy to stand, as if he's being pressed against the floor, weighed down by unknown forces.

Ouma appears in his sight, kneeling down in front of Saihara with an expression displaying alarm. Saihara doesn't look him in the eye. He's afraid that if he does, he will never be able to forgive himself, staring into Ouma's eyes with emotions swelling inside of him, and suddenly breaking down in front of the supreme leader once again.  _ He'll call me weak, tell everyone how undeniably pitiful I am _ , Saihara thinks.  _ I can't seem as broken as I already do. I need to be stronger. _

“Are you okay?” Ouma asks him gently, placing a hand over Saihara’s. The latter's heart rate increases and his face heats up. He's about to pull his hand away and hide the blush covering his cheeks when he remembers that he's crying, that it's hidden within his tears. 

Saihara shakes his head. “They all saw me like this,” he whispers, trying to control his tear ducts. 

Ouma laughs lightly, a small smile forming on his face. “Yeah, but it's okay. It was really funny to see you dressed this way, honestly.” Saihara's eyebrows furrow. He is fully aware that Ouma teases people a lot, and that he sometimes says things that accidentally offend instead of help, but his words hit the detective hard. They feel like poison entering his body.

Saihara places his other hand on the floor and pushes himself slowly off the ground. “I know, Ouma-kun. I don't need a reminder of my humiliation, thank you.” Saihara is able to make it three steps before his leg buckles, sending him falling to the floor. His face meets the alternating black and white tiles, and he prays silently that he is fine. The pain goes into his nose and runs through the rest of his face. 

Ouma crawls over to him with eyebrows raised, his expression painted with mix of panic and concern. “Saihara-chan!? Are you okay!?”

Saihara once again pulls his body off the floor, attempting to stand with failure. “I-I’m fine,” he lies as he falls to his knees. “I-I'm fine.”

Ouma flashes him a smile filled with dispirit. “Saihara-chan, you can’t lie to a liar, didn’t you know?” The smaller boy stands up and holds out his hand to the detective. “Come on. I’m gonna help you.”

Instead of accepting Ouma’s help, Saihara stares at his hand with his eyebrows raised, like the movement is foreign to him. “…Huh?”

A downhearted sigh escapes from the Supreme Leader’s lips. “I’m gonna help you,” he repeats, curling his fingers for indication. “You can’t get back to the dorms if you fall after every step, can you?”

“B-But –– ”

“Come on Saihara-chan,” Ouma urges. “I know you don't want anyone else to see you this way, right? Please, accept my generosity, this one time.” Ouma looks away from Saihara and laughs nervously. “Oh, your nose is kind of  bleeding…”

Saihara presses his middle finger under his nose lightly, drawing it away soon after. Spots of blood leave behind a mark on his skin, and shivers crawl up the detective’s spine. He does need help, and he wants to accept the magnanimity that his acquaintance offers, but something in the back of his mind shouts at him to stay away. “I-I’m fine Ouma-kun,” Saihara insists, staring at the tiles on the floor as he rubs his thumb against the blood, trying to blend it away. “Even if I did accept your kindness, it’s not like you actually want to help me. It would just be out of pity, wouldn’t it?”

“Who said anything about pity?”

Saihara’s head shoots up and he stares at the supreme leader with wide eyes. “B-But didn’t you––?”

Ouma curls his fingers and uncurls them, motioning for Saihara to take his hand. “Why would I take pity on you Saihara-chan? You’re my friend, right? Of course I want to help you, and this time my generosity is genuine.”

They stare at each other for what feels like forever, as if all time has frozen around them, leaving the two of them alone, the only things left in the universe. The detective’s thoughts swirl in his mind, trying to convince him to keep his hands where they are, out of Ouma’s. However, before he can even process his movements, his hand is in the younger boy’s hand, a weak smile forming on Saihara’s face. He uses his free hand to wipe away the lingering tears under his eyes.

Time hits the play button. “So, you screwed up your legs, from what I can tell,” Ouma says, furrowing his eyebrows as he looks at down at Saihara’s knees. For the first time since he’s fallen, he glances down at his legs. His kneecaps have quarter-sized black and blue bruises on them, going hand in hand with the small bloody cuts trailing up his legs. He probably didn’t get them all from the fall he had just taken, but instead they’re a combination of the multiple falls he took in this hallway and when he was thrown out of Shinguji’s room.

“Oh, um… It's not that bad,” Saihara lies. “I'm fine.”

Ouma shrugs. “Well, Mr. Fine, you look like you need some rest. Why don't we go back to my dorm?”

The detective’s eyes widen with surprise. “Your dorm?”

“Yeah,” Ouma replies as he wraps his free hand around Saihara's body, pulling the injured boy to his feet. Saihara falls against Ouma's body as his ankle buckles beneath him, their chests pressing against each other. It takes a moment for Saihara to process his current position, and once he does, his face turns bright red.

“I-I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to do that! I-It was an accident!” The words poor out of his mouth as he steps back, almost falling to the floor. He is only kept from doing so when Ouma reaches out a hand and grasps the taller boy's wrists before he can hit the ground, yanking him back up. Once at his feet, he turns away, his face burning with embarrassment. His arms cross and he rubs his arm nervously.

Ouma laughs heartily. “It’s okay Saihara-chan.” The smaller boy approaches Saihara and wraps his arm around his body. He then grabs Saihara's hand and wraps it around his own shoulder, keeping the detective on his feet. With Ouma supporting him, the two begin walking in the direction of the dorms, a weak yet grateful smile on Saihara's face.

“You know, you don't...have to help me,” Saihara insists, trying to alleviate the pressure he is putting on Ouma by attempting, and failing, to stand up straight. “I can—”

“If I had a problem with it, I wouldn't be doing it,” Ouma replies. He turns his head and gives Saihara a bright smile. “Friends help friends, don't they Saihara-chan?”

“Well, yeah… But if I'm just going to be a burden to you…”

Ouma’s smile vanishes into thin air. He turns away as a serious expression crosses his face, his eyebrows furrowing with vexation. “You shouldn't talk like that, you know. I know you probably can't help it, but it's not fun to hear.” He shakes his head. “You're not a burden, okay? Please, don't call yourself that. It makes me upset to hear you say things like that about yourself.”

Saihara processes the words slowly and carefully, replaying them over and over in his mind to make sure he heard them correct. It was almost as if Ouma was implying that he cares about Saihara. As soon as the thought enters his head, he shakes it away, chuckling lightly.  _ Of course not. _

“What's so funny?” Ouma asks.

Saihara shrugs. “Just a thought I had, that's all…”

Soon the boys arrive at the dorms, both exhausted: The taller boy from walking across the school and up a flight of stairs with such sore and messed up legs, and the shorter boy from supporting the former the entire way. 

The two fall to the floor unexpectedly, Saihara's head hitting the first stair up to the second floor of dorms. He groans in pain as he takes his hand away from Ouma to rub his forehead. As he pulls his hand away, he pauses. Ouma has absolutely no grip on Saihara. In fact, Ouma wasn't moving at all.

Heart racing, Saihara turns his head to look at the boy lying on his stomach next to him, the sight sending him into a short-lived fear-filled paralysis. Blood drips from Ouma's forehead, which had hit the same stair as Saihara's did. The supreme leader’s eyes are closed, and his hands lay loosely open, one on the floor and the other around the detective’s waist.

“Ouma-kun!” Saihara gets onto his knees and searches Ouma’s body carefully, trying to refrain from touching the body too much. He lightly grasps his hand around the smaller boy’s wrist and press down gently. Relief flows through his body when he feels a steady heartbeat pumping through Ouma’s veins.

The embarrassment that Saihara had felt before could no longer be found in his body, instead replaced with panic and irrational thoughts. He looks around frantically for a solution to the problem, but can't find one in his sight. 

_ Maybe I can get him up the stairs,  _ Saihara thought,  _ and into his room, then to his bed. Then I can stop the bleeding, and he'll be fine when he wakes up. _

He looks up at the staircase, which can't be more than twelve steps. However, as soon as his eyes land on them, he feels a sharp pain in his leg. Soon twelve stairs looks like thirty, then a hundred, a thousand, a million. 

_ This isn't going to be fun. _

With a nervous yet reassuring breath, Saihara places his hands on the floor and slowly pushes himself off of the ground and to his feet, immediately grabbing onto the railing of the stairs to stay up. His legs hold him up like twigs on the verge of snapping, making him have to wrap his arm around the railing to keep from collapsing as he walks up a few stairs. The detective then reaches his opposite hand across the stairs and to the other railing, grasping the metal bar as he sinks onto his knees. He's never been so exhausted before in his life, and that combined with the pain in his barely-working legs makes the world spin through his vision, the light-headed feeling coursing through his body and making it difficult to keep his grip on the rails.

He releases the railing in his right hand and pulls himself closer to Ouma with his left, which is still grasping the rail. Soon he is sitting two steps above Ouma, staring down at the supreme leader while he lays there silently. Seeing the sight makes tears enter Saihara's eyes with guilt.  _ He wouldn't have gotten hurt if he wasn't helping me.  _

He shakes the thought away and grabs ahold of the smaller boy's hand. The hand feels soft, not rough like any other guy’s hand, and it still feels warm, which is a good sign. Saihara pushes his body up to the next step, pain coursing through his veins. His vision blurs slightly and his grip becomes weaker as he lets out a shaky breath. 

“I… I can do it,” he says aloud to himself, speaking in between his painful gasps for air. He looks down at his ankle, which has turned a deep purple, red specks visibly through the bruising. There was no questioning that he messed it up further from all of the walking he’s done, but he pushing that thought aside. Ouma is the most important thing at the moment.

After minutes of pain and agony, minutes of guilt and sadness, they’re at the top of the stairs. Saihara’s legs scream at him for rest, his heart thumping as reminder, but he refuses to listen to them. Only a minute later are they at Ouma’s door, the detective panting from the exercise he was not expecting. As he is about to push the button to open the door, a thought suddenly dawns on him.

He doesn’t have the key.

Dread fills his body as he turns to look at the unconscious boy laying on the floor behind him. If he wants the key, he needs to get it off of Ouma. But if Ouma doesn’t have the key, then he would have been searching his body for nothing. The idea of there being no key was not the problem. The problem is that he would being touching the body of a person who is still alive, and a classmate at that. Even so, this is what needs to be done.

_ If this is needed, then why do I feel so nervous about it? _

Taking in a nervous breath, Saihara gets onto his knees and stares at Ouma’s body, rethinking his decision. He shakes his head, bringing himself back into focus.  _ This has to be done. I have to help Ouma. _

He reaches a shaky hand toward Ouma, reaching for his pocket in search of the keycard…

And suddenly, the world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO, I DID NOT RUN OUT OF IDEAS. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO END THIS WAY.
> 
> Readers: Um, Izzy, calm down...
> 
> I AM CALM. YOU ALL BETTER HAVE A NICE FLIPPING DAY!


	4. Restoration

*Ouma’s POV*

 

_ “Wow, did you hear that?” _

_ The voice is broken and full of static, like it’s coming from a radio. Ouma’s eyes peel open and he carefully scans the area. There’s nothing there. Not a person in sight, not a thing in sight, not an anything in sight. The world is just a black void, deprived of noise, visuals, and feelings. It’s broken. _

_ Ouma raises an eyebrow curiously. “Did I hear what?” _

_ “The thud.” _

_ The thud? _

_ “What do you mean?” _

_ The voice laughs a wicked laugh, the static adding a new factor of uneasiness to the situation. “The body.” _

_ Ouma thinks hard, the words bouncing off his ears, and shakes his head in frustration. “I don’t get it.” _

_ “Why, Saihara-kun, of course.” _

_ The small boy feels his heart stop. He grabs his head and his temples pulse from underneath his hands. His head hurts, more than it normally would. He grits his teeth in aggravation, squeezing his eyes shut. _

_ “What did you…do to Saihara-chan?” _

_ “You really care him, don’t you? You should see it for yourself,” the voice echoes. _

_ “How do I—” _

_ “Silly, you just need to wake up.” _

_ Ouma pulls his hands away from his head and closes his eyes slowly, trying to process the nonsense the voice is speaking. _

_ Wake up? _

 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

 

Ouma keeps his eyes shut. The lights are bright, piercing his eyes with a pain sharper than daggers. His head hurts immensely. It's as if something hit him,  or like he fell and banged his head on the floor, or on a nearby object. He reaches his hand up to his head and rubs it gently, wincing when his hand comes into contact with the bump that had formed.  _ What happened? Where am I? _

He hears the sounds of a soft breathing to the right of him, which causes him to open his eyes, fighting against the pain they felt from the light. When he rolls over, he sees a body lying only inches away, their back facing Ouma. They have short, black hair that is tangled into a mess, and a bump is visible on the back of their head. Their outfit is wrinkly and…a maid’s dress?

_ Saihara?  _ Ouma sits up slowly, clenching his teeth together to ignore the pain. Once up, he plants is hands on the ground and slowly peers over the body’s shoulder, trying to get a clear look at their face. And, just as he had suspect, there lay Saihara, his head resting on his hands, eyes closed as if he is in a peaceful sleep.

After seeing the boy's bruised knees, the memories Ouma had forgotten start flooding back into his head. He was carrying Saihara back to the former's dorm, and the exhaustion took over quicker than anticipated. Although, it was to be expected. After all, Ouma didn't exercise much, and his lungs weren't the strongest.

He reaches out a hand, about to shake Saihara awake, when he notices something on the face of his hand: a bandage. Ouma stares at it and raises an eyebrow.  _ When did I put on a band-aid? _

Saihara turns over, snow facing Ouma. A tiny smile forms on the detective’s face in his sleep, and he snuggles deeper into the pillow his head rests on. Ouma looks around, taking in his surrounding for the first time since he's awoken. He's in a dorm. It's not his own, and from his memory, it's not Saihara's. These walls look plain, lacking in any decoration or added details to make it unique. It's almost like this person doesn't embrace their ultimate talent, or they are just a rather boring individual.

This must be Amami’s room.

All of a sudden an arm is reaching across his lap, and a body is snuggling up against Ouma's own. The supreme leader looks down and sees Saihara, his arm wrapped gently across former's body. Ouma blushes at the sudden action, but calms himself quickly once he remembered that Saihara was asleep, and that he wasn't doing this on purpose.

Ouma places his hand on Saihara's shoulder and shakes him lightly. “Hey, Saihara-chan?”

Saihara frowns at the sudden touch, only to smile a few moments later, his eyes slowly opening. His eyes are still red from their time in the hallway, and his nose doesn't seem to be bleeding anymore. However, there are traces of dried blood visible near his nostrils. 

The detective stares are Ouma for a few seconds before his face gives off a perplexed expression. “Ouma-kun? Where…are we?”

“Amami-chan’s room, I think,” Ouma replies.

“But weren't we in the hall?” Saihara asks again, his eyes shining, clearly becoming frustrated by his confusion toward the situation. “How did we—?”

He cuts himself off by looking down at his arm, which is still wrapped around Ouma's legs, their bodies still against each other. After a moment, the realization hits him like a truck, and he lets go immediately. As he tries to back away from Ouma, he backs himself off the bed, and hits the floor below, banging his back on the window frame behind him.

“Saihara-chan!” Ouma jumps up from the bed and runs around to the other side, a panicked expression on his face. He looks at the heap of black and white fabric, trying not to laugh. Despite Saihara being hurt, his position was worth a laugh over. Saihara's leg had jammed itself in between the bedside table and the bed, his heel acting a block, keeping him from being able to pull it out. It was like trying to pull a nail through a piece of wood by the sharp end. Ouma can't help but laugh at his friend's predicament.

"I-It's not funny!" Saihara stammers, propping himself up on his arms. He glances at his leg and lets out an aggravated sigh.

"It's okay Saihara-chan!" Ouma says with a smile, approaching the detective in hopes of making him feel better about his dilemma. "I can get you out of there, no problem! You just need a little pull, right?"

Saihara nods in agreement, but then looks up at the smaller boy with a confused expression. "Wait, what?"

Ouma doesn't answer. Instead, he grabs ahold of Saihara's wrists and begins pulling on him, attempting to pry his foot out from behind the bedside table. The only result is a painful and rather pitched scream coming from the captive's mouth. Ouma lets go upon hear this, trying to hold back his chuckling.

Saihara looks up at him with a red face. However, Ouma can see in his eyes that Saihara isn't angry at him; he's embarrassed that he's in this situation. "Why are you laughing?" Saihara exclaims.

"Saihara-chan, you don't need to be embarrassed!" He reassures Saihara. "It's not embarrassing if it's only me, right?"

It takes Saihara a moment before he responds. "If this isn't embarrassing, then what is this Ouma-kun?"

Ouma shakes his head. You don't just answer a question with another question. It's the worst, especially if you don't have an answer. Lucky for Ouma, he knows the answer. "It's funny!"

Saihara raises an eyebrow. "Funny?"

"You shouldn't take everything so seriously Saihara-chan," Ouma says, crouching down next to the detective. "Not everything in life is meant to be taken so hard, you know? You should learn to have a little more fun."

"But how is this fun?" Saihara asks, his face turning a deeper shade of red.

"No, not 'fun'. Funny."

Saihara glances down at his wedged leg, still looking confused, staring intensely at it before responding.

He starts laughing.

"Hey, this is kind of funny," Saihara says, the happiness echoing throughout his timid voice. Hearing this voice, hearing Saihara laugh, and seeing him smile like this makes Ouma want to hug him. Finally, after all that has happened today, Saihara's feeling better. It's a all he could ask for at the moment.

"Oh, you two are awake."

Ouma jumps at the sudden voice. He turns to look toward the source of the voice, the door, and sees someone standing in the door. "Momota-chan?" The Ultimate Astronaut. Out of all people, Momota would be one of the last people he expected to have such a bland room. After all, Momota has quite a personality himself.

"Wait, this is your room?" Saihara asks, peering over the side of the bed from on the floor.

"Yeah, of course," Momota replies, raising an eyebrow. "Why? Who's room did you think this was?"

"Amami-chan's" Ouma responds. Momota doesn't even think before nodding his head in agreement.

"So, why is Saihara-kun sitting on the floor with his...foot stuck behind my bedside table?" Momota questions, rubbing the back of his neck with a puzzled expression on his face.

Saihara furrows his eyebrows. "Why are we in your room to begin with?" He asks.

Momota sighs, shaking his head in disappointment. “Man, you don't just answer a question with another question. That's just not cool.” He walks over to the two and sits down on the edge of the bed. “A few hours ago, I saw you guys passed out in the hallways near Ouma-kun's room. Ouma was bleeding out from the back of his head and Saihara had a large bump on his head too, and his nose was bleeding everywhere. I brought you guys here to help you out, I guess.”

_ So it has only been a few hours _ . Ouma let's out a thankful sigh of relief.

Saihara smiles warmly at Momota. “…Thank you Momota-kun.”

“Yeah, no problem. Now you answer my question.”

Saihara's face lights up. “W-Well, I woke and I didn't know where I was, so I panicked and fell off the bed, and…and this happened.”

Momota chuckles. “That's kind of funny.”

“So I've been told,” Saihara mumbles, glancing back at his trapped foot.

“Dude, I have to know,” Momota says, staring at Saihara. It takes Ouma a moment to realize that Momota is staring at Saihara's outfit, at his shame. It makes Ouma angry knowing that he himself had done the exact same thing only hours ago. “What's with the skimpy outfit?”

Saihara turns bright red, his eyes shining. “I-I…” He's cut off by the tears forming in the corners of his eyes, the words being lost in a sea of agony as he chokes up. “I—”

“Somebody took Saihara-chan’s clothes while he was getting dressed in the locker rooms,” Ouma quickly says, putting on a false smile. Obviously that isn't what happened. There are a lot of reasons why that is wrong, not just counting logical thinking, basically “why wouldn't he just ask a guy to borrow their clothes for the time being” or “why didn't he put his gym clothes back on?” Ouma knows that Saihara's clothes probably weren't stolen. He just needs something believable to tell Momota. After all, Momota isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer.

Momota crosses his arms. “If someone took his clothes, then why is he wearing a dress like that?”

“Because… Shirogane-chan was the first person to find him?” Momota rubs his chin, seemingly considering the story. Ouma bites his lip nervously and looks back at Saihara, who is staring at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.  _ Please work. _

Lucky for them, Momota is as dumb as a bag of hammers. 

“Damn, that sucks,” he says, rubbing his nape. “I swear, assholes like that…” He looks up at the pair of boys and gives them a sympathetic smile. “I can give you some spare clothes if that'll help you Saihara-kun.” 

Saihara's face turns pale, and he shakes his head wildly. “N-No, it's okay. If you can just…get my keycard from Akamatsu-san, then I can get back to my room…”

Momota nods and jumps up off the bed. “Alright! You get yourself outta there, and I'll go get you that keycard. Just stay here until I get back.”

With that, Momota takes off toward the door, running out just before it clanks shut behind him. Once he's gone, Ouma turns back and glances down at Saihara. “So, you want to get yourself out of there Saihara-chan?”

“Yeah,” Saihara replies. Suddenly, he looks away, a light red tinting his cheeks. He wipes the lingering tears off of his face. “Thank you…for what you did with Momota. I know it put you in an uncomfortable situation, and—”

“Don't even worry about it Saihara-chan!” Ouma says with a grand smile. “I'm glad  I could help you!”

Saihara's eyes shine with gratification as he smiles brightly. Ouma chuckles happily and wraps his arms under Saihara's, going around his waist. As he does so, a light blush falls over his face, which he decides to ignore. When he hears Saihara gasp in pain and see his foot in the same position as when they started, he deduces that they are getting absolutely nowhere with what they're doing. If he could, he would just push the bedside table out of the way. Unfortunately, he knows that these tables are attached to the wall by some kind of stupid metal bars, going along with each rooms futuristic design, so moving it was out of the question.

“Hey, I don't mean to sound rude,” Saihara says, cutting off Ouma's train of thought, “but why  _ are  _ you helping me?”

Ouma bites his lip. This was nothing new to him. Being the pest he is easily capable of being, he is used to having his classmate question his random acts of kindness. He just puts on a smile when met with curiosity of his good intentions, which does, admittedly, hurt a little to do. He's reached the point where he now is considered suspicious among his peers if he does something nice for them, and that's not a place he ever wanted to arrive at. Yes, it hurt when others questioned his good deeds, but oddly enough, it bothered him the most when Saihara asked about it. 

“What do you mean?” Ouma asks through clenched teeth, hiding his irritation. “We're friends, right? Why wouldn't I help a friend?”

“Oh, that's right,” Saihara says softly. “Even after all of this, you're still my friend?”

“Of course Saihara-chan!” Ouma exclaims, relief washing over him. _So_ _that's_ _what_ _his curiosity_ _was_ _about._ “This is just a silly misunderstanding, right?”

“Yes, of course,” Saihara answers, looking down t the floor. “It's all…just a misunderstanding…”

Ouma peers over Saihara's shoulder to see a blank expression, his eyes depressed, lacking any joyful emotions. “Hey, are you okay?” He asks gently.

Saihara looks up, his eyes still lined with tears. When he sees Ouma's concerned expression, he nods his head and puts a smile on his face. “Yeah, I'm fine. You know, despite the situation…” When Saihara looks back at his foot, Ouma frowns. If anyone can see a false smile, it's Ouma, and that   smile Saihara had painted on was as messy as a piece of sidewalk chalk.  _ He's lying to me. _

Although he wants to question the detective’s reasoning behind his deceit, he chooses to drop the matter. He doesn't want to upset Saihara again, no matter what.

“Saihara-chan, I want to help you,” Ouma says slowly as he sits down next to him. He pauses, scared of his own words and how they'll affect his friend. “I don't like seeing you so miserable, despite the fact that you may think I do.”

“I don't,” Saihara, keeping his gaze on the floor. “I know you pretend to find joy out of the misfortune of others, but I also know that you have a heart. You're a good person, not a bad one.”

Ouma's face lights up and he looks at his feet sheepishly.  _ Why am I blushing so much?  _ “Nobody’s ever said that to me.”

“Well, of course I wouldn't call you a bad person,” Saihara says. He looks up and grins at Ouma, his smile brighter than any smile Ouma has ever seen come from the detective. “I mean, we're friends, aren't we?”


	5. Anxiety

*Saihara’s POV*

A blowtorch. It takes a blowtorch from Iruma's room to get Saihara unstuck from behind the bedside table. 

When he fell from the bed and his foot fell behind the small piece of furniture, his heel had dug a hole into the wall. His shoe had gotten wedged into the new blemish on the wall, keeping his body locked in place. To get him out, they had to physically move the table, meaning they had to get rid of the metal rods keeping it in place. So yes, blowtorch.

After being freed from his temporary prison by Ouma and Momota, Saihara decided that he had had enough embarrassment for one day, and started walking back to his room, his keycard in his hand. Momota had gotten it back from Akamatsu with ease, which meant that Saihara could now enter his room and hide from the other students until his deadline passes.

He fumbles with the keycard, his hands still shaking. Saihara stares at them, wondering if they'll ever stop, or if his embarrassment is going to keep them fueled. That's an answer he doesn't know. It will all depend on how he let's these things affect him. 

“Saihara-kun.” 

Saihara jumps as he feels a hand land on his shoulder. He quickly spins around, locking eyes with the long-haired man standing before him, towering over his short stature. Dread instantly floods Saihara’s body, making his heart pound heavily against his chest. His breathing becomes shallow and broken, as if his pulse is controlling his lungs. 

“Shinguuji-kun…” he mumbles, almost speaking in a whisper. He wants to look away from the man standing before him, the man who is staring at him with eyes that glow with such a ridiculous mixture of comfort, curiosity, and threat.  _ Run, run, run…  _

“I see you’re enjoying yourself,” Shinguuji comments monotonously, scanning the detective’s body. Saihara presses his legs together tightly, leaning forward slightly to block Shinguuji’s line of sight. “Are people embracing your beauty?” The folklorist asks.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘beauty’, more like ‘shame’,” Saihara corrects, looking toward the ground as his cheeks tint red with humiliation. Of all people to have to see at the moment, Shinguuji was definitely not one he was hoping to. In fact, he would rather have Iruma see him this way over the folklorist. “This isn’t something people usually few as beautiful Shinguuji-kun.”

Shinguuji’s eyes narrow. “This form of beauty did not appeal to our classmates?” He places a hand on his heart and rubs his chin with the other, a low humming sound coming out from under his black mask. “Well, if our friends did not see your beauty through the form of embarrassment, then perhaps they will see it through the form of fear…” 

“Fear?” Saihara questions, taking a nervous step backwards, his back hitting the wall behind him.

Shinguuji snaps his fingers. “Let’s compromise. I will allow you freedom from your outfit if you will gladly go along with my next idea.”

“I have a choice?”

“Yes. Now, will you accept the offer?” Saihara doesn’t even think before nodding his head eagerly, receiving a light chuckle from Shinguuji.  “Well then, alright. From here on in, you will listen to whatever I say.” He lets his arms slowly fall back down to his sides. “Alright. Go ahead and remove your outfit.”

“Okay,” Saihara happily agrees. He turns around and is about to slide his keycard through the reader when a hand grasps around his own wrist. Saihara gasps in surprise, instantly dropping the plastic card onto the floor below. His body is spun around so he is facing Shinguuji once again, who is shaking his head.

“Kukuku…” He laughs softly. “I didn’t say to go into your room, did I? I said to remove your outfit.”

The detective raises an eyebrow, confused. The words float around  his head for a few moments, trying to connect with his brain in a way that makes sense.  _ Am I not understanding this correctly? He told me to take the dress off, so why won’t he let me go in my room and…? _

Saihara’s eyes widen as the idea finally clicks in his mind.

“Y-Y-You want me to… R-R-Right here?!” He stammers, his body shaking violently. His legs wobble as they struggle to keep him standing, ready to buckle at any moment. Everything goes blurry in his line of sight as the idea repeats itself again and again in Saihara’s mind like a broken record.

Shinguuji’s eyes light up. “Ah, the beauty of embarrassment. It is rather astounding. How could the others have been so blind toward such pulchritude, especially from a creature as marvelous as you?” As he speaks, Saihara feels Shinguuji's fingers slowly creeping down the smaller boy's body, reaching carefully underneath his dress. 

Saihara quickly grasps Shinguuji's wrists and yanks them away from him, staring him dead in the eye. “W--What are you doing?!”

The folklorist smirks, not even attempting to free his hands from Saihara's grip “You won't obey my orders? You  _ do  _ remember our deal, don't you?” He chuckles. “I know Akamatsu-san would  _ love _ to see you in the hands of another man, wouldn't she?”

Saihara bites his lip, anxiety flowing through his body. “Please, Shinguuji-kun. Please don't…” His eyes fill back up with painful tears. “I'll do anything else to express fear. Just...” He felt ashamed of himself for begging, especially to the man who is set on making his life a living hell.

Shinguuji seems to consider his request, staring at him with questioning eyes. They tear into Saihara, the intimidation and power piercing the detective's soul like a bright light. Finally, Shinguuji says, “Follow me.”

The folklorist takes ahold of Saihara's hand, his grip much stronger than the latter would have guessed. He drags him through the halls roughly. Saihara doesn't ask him to slow down, knowing nothing would come of requesting it. He limps the whole way there, his legs aching from the earlier events. All he wants to do is go back to his room and sleep, end this nightmare he's being forced to live through.  _ Please, wake up Saihara. _

After a few minutes of what feels like endless walking, they arrive at a janitor's closet. Saihara glances at Shinguuji with confusion as the taller man pulls the door open. The shelves are lined with cleaning supplies, emitting a strong scent similar to laundry detergent. A mop bucket sits in the corner, with a mop and broom sitting beside it, clearly gathering dust. It looks like nobody has been in here for years.

Shinguuji glances back at Saihara. “Get the window cleaner from in the back.”

Saihara glances into the room, and his vision blurs. The room shrinks in his vision, turning darker and darker. He grabs onto his wrist with his opposing hand. “You want me to…go in?” Shinguuji nods, eyes giving hints of deviousness.

“It's just for a second, right? Don't let your claustrophobia get in the way of doing basic tasks Saihara-kun.”

_ Is it that obvious?  _ Despite the hundreds of allegations he could make on the subject, he knows that Shinguuji is right. Plus, he wouldn't have a choice. He'd have to go in there anyways if Shinguuji asked him to.

Taking in a nervous breath, Saihara steps into the closet, moving in slow strides, as if moving any faster would make the entire room collapse on him. His heart beats rapidly as he reaches up for the bottle of window cleaner, hands shaking. Just as he is about to grab the small container, the world falls into darkness.

Saihara freezes, trying to comprehend the situation. “...Shinguuji-kun?” he calls weakly, voice cracking in fear. No response. The detective lowers his hand slowly, turning toward the door and placing it carefully on the knob. He tries to push it open, but has no avail. He tries to pull it, knowing he's moving the door in the wrong direction, but tries nevertheless. 

“Shinguuji-kun, open the door!” He yells, his voice slipping into panic as he pounds his fists on the wooden surface of the door. Nothing.

Saihara breathing picks up, becoming faster and heavier. He places a hand on his heart, trying to slow it down.  _ I'm trapped. The walls are closing in. I’m running out of air. My lungs are stopping. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die! _

The detective's back hits the wall, and he slides down, light headed as his he sobs, fear taking control over his frail body. Saihara gasps for air, tears pouring down his face. His throat closes up as he  his head into his knees, curling up in a ball in the corner of the tiny room. Even if he didn’t want to, his mind forced him to give up escaping. Terror was in control of his body now. Perhaps it would be better with light, which this room lacks tremendously. The only light is a small, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling, only bright enough for him to see the tops of his knees.

_ I don’t want to die! I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t-! _

Footsteps.

Saihara raises his head slowly, trying his hardest to stop his waterworks so he can pay attention. Even through his trembling breaths, he can hear the sound of someone walking down the hallway.

He wants to run to the door, get up and pound with all his might on the surface of the door, and to beg for freedom from whoever it may be on the other side. Want isn’t enough though. His body won’t move, his mind keeping it in place. 

_ “Horror is a terrible thing to experience.” _ That’s what Saihara had been told by his friends. He never knew what fear really, truly felt like. He knew that he hated small spaces, he knew that they made him uncomfortable, as he would be nervous going into elevators or other small storage areas, but being locked in one in the dark is completely different. It's petrifying.

Saihara slowly gets to his feet, falling back against the wall. He’s light-headed, all the hyperventilating and tears making his head pound ferociously. He takes a few steps towards the door, holding his head in his hands, until he feels himself run into the surface of the exit. The footsteps can still be heard, slowly getting louder. The person is about to walk by the door.

Saihara leans his head against the door and pounds his fist on the wood, a few seconds in between each knock. He pleads silently that the person can hear him, his body shaking with anxiety. A soft “help me” escapes from his lips as tears escape from his eyes, which roll close in exhaustion. All he wants to do is sleep, slip away from the world for just a little while, take a break from this torture.

His body falls forward, free-falling toward the floor. A sudden light shines in through his closed eyes. It all feels like a dream that he can’t see. It’s peaceful, but terrifying. 

“Sai…? …ara, ar…u okay?”

Everything feels lost, broken, empty. Is this what fear is supposed to feel like?

“Sai…at happ…?!”

Saihara’s eyes flutter open, and he weakly stares up into a pair of emerald green irises, which stare back at him with concern and alarm.

“Shuuichi?! Shuuichi!” The person repeated, their voice increasing in volume. Saihara awakens hearing these words, the syllables floating into his head like molasses.

_ Why did they call me Shuuichi? _

“A…Amami-kun…” Saihara breathes out, struggling to keep his eyes open. After a few moments of abyss-like silence, the detective is lifted off the ground, being carried through the halls on the blonde’s back. His body lightly bounces with every step. 

“Shinguuji-kun did this to you, didn't he?” Amami asks, his voice monotone.

Saihara opens his eyes slightly. “You…knew?”

Amami sighs. “We never talked about this, okay? I'm sorry this happened to you.”

Saihara goes silent. He can't just pretend they never had this conversation, can he? Memories are a horrible thing, and it's because you can never get rid of them.

“If you feel remorse, then why are you working with Shinguuji-kun?” Saihara mumbles in confusion.

“It's what I have to do,” Amami replies. “It's my job, okay? Just… He never told me he was going to do this to you. I'm sorry.”

_ So that's what he meant _ .

“We never talked about this”.

Amami wasn't referring to him and Saihara when he said those words: he was referring to him and Shinguuji. But if Amami is working with Shinguuji, why wouldn't the folklorist inform him of the plan? And why would Amami feel  _ sorry  _ for Saihara?

“Let's get you out of that stupid outfit,” Amami suggests, “and you can recover from today, yeah?”

Saihara has so many more questions spinning in his brain, but he is too exhausted to care about asking them. He agrees with Amami, responding with nothing but a wrap nod of the head.

The rest of his time awake goes by in a blur. They end up back at Saihara's room, Amami helps Saihara regain his freedom to wear normal clothing once again, and the detective climbs into his bed, his eyes almost instantly sliding shut. He let the darkness consume him without putting up even the slightest bit of fight. It was all he had the strength to do at this point.

As he drifted off, his mind briefly recapped his day, almost like a television show, minus the “Previously on The Blackmail…” at the beginning of the episode. The pain, the embarrassment, the fear, and the exhaustion. It was dreadful. The only good part of the day, ironically, was when he had his foot trapped behind Momota’s bedside table. His talk with Ouma… The supreme leader’s words repeated endlessly in his head.

_ “We're friends, right? Why wouldn't I help a friend?” _

Friend… The word floats around gently in Saihara’s brain, making him feel warm, euphoric. Remembering the way that Ouma had spoken so gently to him, the way he had wrapped his arms around Saihara’s frail body with such delicacy, made a light blush paint onto the detective’s face. However, Saihara was far too worn out to notice, let alone care. Instead, he lets his mind shut off, his body sink into his soft, warm bed, and his consciousness drift off into a peaceful sleep.


	6. Empathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I felt bad for being so inactive on this story for almost two months, so I started working on this chapter at four this morning and finished it about twenty minutes ago! I hope you all enjoy! Don't worry, I won't take so long to update this time!

*Saihara’s POV*

Saihara is awoken by a soft tapping on his door. It echoes around his room with a loose hollow sound, breaking the detective out of his tranquil slumber. He glances over at the clock sitting on the bedside table next to him, squinting to read the bright red letters shining back at his face. 

_ 2:17  _

He doesn’t even bother with wondering why someone is knocking on his door this late at night. This wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened since he’s been here, after all. Whether it be from a somnambulist with no control of their actions in their sleep or a close friend needing someone to speak to after a rough dream. He’s been up awoken time after time, filled with concern for whoever it may be, but this time, on this night, he could care less who is at the door.

Tonight, all he wants to do is sleep, no interruptions.

“Hey, Saihara-kun. Are you awake?”

The voice is muffled through the walls, and the words come across with urgency. He isn’t sure whether it’s from the person themself or from the wall’s effect on the speech. Whichever it may be, the person clearly wants to talk. However, Saihara wants to do the exact opposite: tell the person to leave him be and to go to bed.

Then again, he wonders if he will be able to deal with the fact that he simply brushed aside someone in need for his own selfish reasons.

With an exhausted sight, he lets his guilt get the better of him and climbs out of bed. Part of him hopes that the person is sleepwalking so he can escort them back to their room, no conversation needed.

“Who is it?” Saihara mumbles, rubbing his eyes gently.

“Oh, I didn’t wake you up, did I?” The voice asks. The detective identifies the voice as a male’s. As for who the voice belongs to, he is unsure

“Yeah, but it’s okay,” Saihara lies. He doesn’t want to make whoever is on the other side of his door feel too upset about coming to him. “What’s the matter?”

“I can’t sleep. I wanted to talk to someone. Is that okay?”

Saihara hesitates for a few long moments, wondering how he should respond to that. He honestly doesn’t want to talk to the man, but at the same time, he wants to help them out in any way he can.  _ Damn it consciousness. _

“Of course,” He replies. “Do you want to come in?”

Saihara gets no response to his question, making him worry. Did he say something wrong? Maybe the man went back to his room. Saihara tries to convince himself that that is what his happening, attempting to relax his anxious mind.

He’s startled back into focus a few moments later by a reply from the man’s muffled voice.

“Come on out.”

The sentence comes across as ominous, causing Saihara to hesitate. The detective brings a hand to his forehead.

_ I should have stayed in bed…   _

Saihara pushes a button on the control panel next to his door, resulting in the metal door to open with a screech. He winces at the sound, now fully awake. The need to ease his consciousness suddenly sounds ridiculous compared to sleep, making him internally face palm. 

When the door finally opens, he is shocked to see Momota standing there, arms folded with a carefree grin on his face, as if this is completely normal. Of all people to be at his door, Momota was not the one he would have guessed. In the three months Saihara has been attending the academy, the astronaut had not once come to him late at night. Heck, Hoshi had even shown up a few times, but never Momota.

“Hey, Saihara-kun-!” He greets loudly, only to be cut off by Saihara, who frantically puts a finger to his own lips.

“What are you doing here, Momota-kun?” Saihara whispers, keeping his door open. He won’t let that annoying hunk of metal go off if he doesn’t have to. After all, it’s not like someone is going to show up and rob his room. There are only sixteen students here, and two of them are talking right in front of his room.

“I came here to see you,” Momota replies. “You wanted to talk to me, right?”

Saihara blinks, trying to comprehend the words. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, maybe I imagined you saying it. Even so, I know that me and you need to have a conversation, and we have to do it with nobody else around, face to face, like real men do,” Momota tells him matter-of-factly.

Saihara runs a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh.  _ Momota’s reasoning is impossible to understand _ . “Can’t we be real men in the morning?”

Momota shakes his head, uncrossing his arms. “No can do. It’s not like this can be discussed during the day anyways.”

“What do you mean?” Saihara asks, puzzled.

“Saihara-kun, you don’t know how much an astronaut has to train every day, do you?”

Saihara stares at him blankly, more confused than he has ever been before. Momota as told Saihara about the former’s constant training multiple times, and Saihara knows how serious Momota is about his rigorous exercising. He’d never figured out why he had to train so hard for such extensive periods of time, but he’d never really questioned it. After all, doing so would not get him a logical answer.

“Yeah, I know how much they do,” Saihara responds after a prolonged silence. “I see you training for hours every day.”

Momota rubs his nape. “Well, if I’m being honest, I’ve been slacking on my usual workout, and now I’m not as in-shape. When I get back to my work, I’m gonna be real far behind the others.” He smiles widely. “So!” He puts his hands on his hips, confident in whatever strange conclusion he’s drawn. “Let’s get to work!!”

Saihara shakes his head. “Momota-kun, what are you talking about?” He didn’t need to ask, really. He knew exactly what Momota was talking about. Even so, he’s not happy with the idea of working up a sweat this late at night, especially after the day he’s had, and with his leg injuries too. 

Momota doesn't seem to take notice of Saihara’s irritation, though. “Let’s warm up, first. Fifty push-ups!” he declares, having already made up his mind.

“Fifty- Wait, that’s a warm-up?!” Saihara exclaims with exasperation. He knows that Momota is rather fit and used to this kind of exercise, but Saihara can easily admit that he isn’t the strongest link on the chain.  _ What happened to us having a conversation like “real men”?! _

“Fifty’s easy man! Come on!” With that, Momota takes Saihara’s arm and pulls him down the stairs to the first floor of the dormitories. At this moment, Saihara realizes that there’s really no easy way out of this, and so he decides against fighting with the astronaut.

When he’s about halfway through his set of push-ups, his chest begins burning while is vision blurs. His arms beg from him to stop and give in. However, he feels like he can’t quit. That doesn’t mean he’s not going to want to the entire time he’s trying.

“Keep going man!” Momota says with motivation. “Only nineteen more to go!”

“I-Is it…normal to…feel like…vomiting…?” Saihara asks between pushups, struggling to breathe. “I…can’t…do this…!”

“Don’t think like that, or you really won’t be able to do it,” Momota advises. “And don’t hold your breath either. That’ll just make it harder.”

Without any further conversation, Saihara completes his last few push-ups. Momota is sitting on the floor beside him, and Saihara can feel the concerned look he’s receiving as he collapses, rolling onto his back as his heart beats rapidly, his stomach flipping. 

_ This was a bad idea. _

How was he supposed to know that Momota was going to make him work out? If he had known ahead of time, he would have pretended he was still asleep, or he would have turned down the offer to talk. Still, he can’t hold it against Momota. After all, he didn’t know that Saihara wasn’t capable of doing such exercises. Although, it could be easily guessed with a quick glance at the detective.

Saihara closes his eyes and tries to steady his breathing, which proves to be immensely difficult. Momota asks if he’s okay, to which he forces himself to nod and make an affirmative noise in answer.

There’s a long pause before Momota lets out a sigh. “Oh, well. If you’re already tired, I guess that’s it.” Saihara hears shuffling. He opens his eyes to see Momota laying down next to him, his hands folded behind his head.

_ I disappointed him, didn’t I? _

“I’m sorry” escapes from the detective’s lips in a breathless rush.

Momota frowns, not looking at Saihara. “Sorry? For what?” Saihara doesn’t reply. “If it’s for being wea- um, out of shape, you shouldn’t be-”

“You don’t have to change your sentence,” Saihara interrupts, his voice depressed. “I know I’m weak.”

Momota turns his head to look at Saihara. “Don’t ever say that, okay? You’re not weak. And don’t say your sorry either. You can’t get better if you spend all your time doubting yourself, can you?”

Saihara continues to stay quiet, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. The glass dome above the dormitories allows him to see the sky, which stretches out above him. It’s vast and daunting. How can he Momota see the same sky in such different ways from each other?

“Hey, I didn’t bring it up then, but… Ouma-kun isn’t as good of a liar as he may think.”

Saihara instantly turns to look at Momota, who is now looking up at the night sky. Anxiousness begins to fill his body.

“You guys don’t have to tell me what’s going on,” Momota says, “and I’m not going to interfere unless you guys are in danger in some way, but just know that every burden is easier to carry when you have another shoulder to carry it on.”

“... Right,” Saihara replies absentmindedly, turning his attention back towards the sky. Momota makes everything sound easier than it really is. It’s one of the things Saihara finds both admirable and oh so frustrating about the astronaut. As frustrating as he can be, however, Momota has a way of making Saihara feel like the universe makes sense, even if it is only a little bit of sense.  _ If only he knew the truth…   _

Silence falls between the two before Saihara breaks it. “It’s just… I guess I’m kind of lost.”

“Lost?” Momota repeats, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean “lost”?”

“I guess you could say that I’m having trouble figuring out who I am, so to speak,” Saihara reiterates. It’s not the truth, but he knows that it will get him the advice that he’s looking for, despite it being a different situation. “Things I enjoy doing feel like a chore. It’ makes me feel like I’m just a shell, and I lost the soul that was once here. I just feel like I don’t know who I am.”

Momota lets out a low hum. “Who ever said you have to?”

“Huh?” Saihara turns his head, caught off-guard by the question.

“Who ever said you have to know who you are right now? Shouldn’t you be trying to figure that out now, while we’re still young?” Saihara stares at him with a dumbfounded expression. He continues. “I'm not saying you shouldn’t be trying to find out who you are right now, of course. I'm saying you shouldn’t be trying so hard to find out at this very moment. Don’t hold yourself back man. Just live life until you know you’re happy.”

“What about the people who try to hold me back?”

“Ignore them,” Momota says with a shrug. “Don’t let them do it.”

Saihara let’s out an aggravated sigh.  _ If only I could. _ “You're making this sound much easier than it actually is.”

Momota smirks. “When did I ever say it was easy?”

Saihara opens his mouth to respond, only to close it again.  _ Ah. _

“You just have to fight back against these people who are holding you back. It’s not easy to do it, but it’s not impossible either. Anything’s possible, if you work hard enough to make it so. Haven’t I told you?” Momota rolls onto his side to look at Saihara, propping his upper half up on his elbow. “Besides, you’ve got me to help you out when it gets tough, don’t you?”

Saihara smiles. Although his logic is almost always flawed, Momota knows exactly how to make someone smile brighter than a thousand suns. “Yeah, you’re right,” Saihara says.

“Exactly. Don’t think you’re alone in this situation either. You have me, you have Ouma-kun, and you have you. You’re brave, braver than you think.”

Saihara’s smiles grows a tiny bit bigger. “Thank you, Momota-kun.”

“None of that,” Momota says, shaking his head. “I’m giving you the privilege to call me by my given name: Kaito-kun. Got it?”

Kaito-kun. Saihara has never called someone by their given name before. The words sound ecstatic as they roll off his tongue. Kaito-kun…

“Okay,” Saihara grins. “I got it…Kaito-kun.”

“Good,” Momota nods. “Maybe we can do this again some other time Shuuichi-kun.”

“All right,” Saihara sighs, secretly pleased at hearing Momota saying his given name.  _ Shuuichi-kun _ . “Just come over earlier next time, okay? I’m woken up enough as it is this late at night.”

“On one condition,” Momota says. “I want you to let me know when you need me there to help you, and I don’t want you to feel like you can’t rely on me when things start going astray. I won’t be able to hold up my end of the deal if you try to keep all the pressure on yourself.” He holds out his free hand. “Deal?”

Saihara is taken aback by Momota’s gesture, but nods as he lifts his hand to grasp Momota’s, shaking it lightly. Momota’s hand is warm much bigger than Saihara’s, when he grasps onto firmly, shaking it with a large grin on his happy-go-lucky face. 

“I won't forget this, okay?” Momota says, flopping onto his back again with a smile on his face. “Remember: don’t be afraid to fight back against these people, and don’t be afraid to ask me for help.”

Something about his smile gives Saihara a stronger resolve, making it possible for him to smile, too. He pushes aside how late it is at night, pushes aside the aching in his chest, arms, and stomach. Now he just want to lie there, tired, sore, and relieved. Although their talk doesn’t physically help his situation, it makes him feel better mentally about it.

Although Saihara wants to thank Momota for his advice, he stops himself from doing so, knowing that Momota would only say it is unnecessary. Instead, he returns his gaze to the sky, thinking the words instead.

_ “Don’t be afraid to fight back against these people.” _

_ “Don’t be afraid to ask me for help.” _

_ “You’re brave, braver than you think." _


	7. Obedience

*Saihara's POV*

Saihara wakes up with sore arms at eleven in the afternoon. The reds number on his clock taunts him from only feet away, judging him harshly. He's never slept in past seven, and now that he has, he feels groggy and broken. Sleeping late is definitely not as good as his classmates make it out to be.

The detective pulls himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes as he runs a tired hand through his messy hair. What happened last night?

"Good afternoon Saihara-chan! You're finally awake!"

Saihara jumps at the sound of the sudden voice, feeling a pair of hands rest on his shoulders. He is spun around and met with the eyes of Ouma, who brings their faces close together. Saihara's face lights up as he comprehends how close they are, only inches apart. His shoulders stiffen as he scrambles his mind for an explanation for their positions, only for him to draw a blank.

"O-Ouma-kun! Wh-What are you—?!

"Well, actually, it's still 'good morning’. I mean, it’s only eleven, right?" Ouma looks completely unfazed by their positions, nor by their proximity.

Saihara tries to calm his heart down.  _ There's no reason to freak out. There has to be a perfectly logical explanation for this. _ He tries asking again, "Ouma-kun, what are you doing here?"

"What do you mean? Of course, I'm going to be here when you wake up, especially after last night."

"Last night...?"

Last night, Saihara was woken up by Momota to do exercises in the main area of the dorms. They eventually stopped and talked deeply about the future. Then... nothing. Everything after was blank.

"Yep!" Ouma continues. "I woke up around three and came out of the dorms to get midnight snack… Well, a three-in-the-morning snack, actually." He shrugs. “Anyways, when I walked out, I saw Momota-kun sitting next to you, shaking your shoulder.” Ouma giggles. “When I asked about it, all he said was that you passed out. Of course, I had to make sure you were okay!”

Saihara frowns and brings his hand up to his forehead in tired frustration. "What are you talking about? I don't remember falling asleep in the hall." I'm pretty sure I would remember that.

"Don't be dumb, Saihara-chan" Ouma laughs. "Of course you don’t remember that. You were asleep when it happened, after all.” He exhales dramatically, "Honestly, Saihara-chan, I thought you were smarter than that."

Saihara's eyes roll. _ Well, he's definitely not the same Ouma who was talking to me yesterday _ . As that thought enters his head, another follows right behind it, one that makes his heart sink. 

_ If he was acting differently yesterday, then what was the friendship he said we had? Was it a…a lie? _

Saihara motions for Ouma to let go and Ouma does so, though still stands in close proximity. Saihara then sees that the smaller boy had brought a chair to sit beside the detective.  _ Was he…waiting for me to wake up this whole time?  _

Saihara rubs his eyes. "Did Momota-kun bring me back here?"

Ouma nods with a large grin on his face. “And I helped too, of course."

"You helped him...?"

"Yup! He didn't want me helping at first, but there was no way I was going to leave you there!"

A small rush of gratitude flows through Saihara. Momota wasn't lying to him when he said they were friends. And the fact that Ouma helped him… It argued against his thoughts.

"Hey Ouma-kun, by any chance, were you waiting for me?"

"Why would you think that, Saihara-chan?" Ouma grins, lips stretched as if he’s hiding a secret.

Saihara reasons, "Well, you were here when I woke up, and your chair is by the bed... it's a logical conclusion if you think about it."

Ouma's grin widens. "Yep, I did! I was responsible for you being so tired, after all!"

Saihara pauses. "What...do you mean?"

"When I saw you, you wanted to be alone, but I wouldn't leave you alone," Ouma says. "Because I kept asking you about your…dilemma, you ended up being embarrassed by Iruma, hurting your knees, and hitting your head." Ouma starts talking more animatedly, "How could I not stay here and wait for you to wake up?"

Saihara rubs his temples in defeat. "So, what’s the real story? Did you just want give yourself a reason to be away from the others?" he mutters.

"What? Why would I want to do that?" Ouma stares at him with questioning eyes. Behind those eyes, however, Saihara can see the hurt. 

_ Huh? _

He speaks as he meets Ouma's eyes square on, raising an eyebrow as he asks, "If you didn't stay here because of the others, then why did you?"

Ouma's sorrow vanishes in a blink, leaving a pondering look on his face, "I don't know," he says. “Maybe because I care about you, and because you're my friend?” Suddenly his mouth curls at the edges and his eyes narrow in impishness. He leans closer, face inches from Saihara's before softly admitting, "Or not. Maybe I just wanted to see your beautiful sleeping face."

Saihara freezes. He stares at Ouma with disbelieving eyes.  _ He can't be serious. _

Ouma leans away. "Just kidding!"

Saihara breaks eye contact and looks away, acquiescence filling his bones. He knows that being friends with Ouma means that he has to put up with the supreme leader's antics.  _ He seems rather happy watching me squirm. _

“Really though,” Ouma brings the conversation back on topic, “I'm here because I was worried about you. After the day you had yesterday, hearing that you “passed out” didn't register to me as “fell asleep.”” Ouma shrugs, glancing away as he mumbles, “I…wanted to make sure that you weren't hurt…that you were safe.”

Before Saihara can even begin to feel gratitude, he hears a loud banging on his door, like a zombie trying to enter his room. 

“Hey, come out here, you kinky fuck!” Saihara doesn't need to open the door to be able to tell that the zombie outside his room is Iruma.

He rubs his forehead as he closes his eyes, wishing for his headache to go away. He's had it ever since he woke up in Momota's room. At first, it was small, barely noticeable in fact, but now it was getting to the point where he’s hit heavily with fatigue. The lights in his room were beginning to hurt his eyes, just as sounds were. Having Iruma pounding away on his door wasn't helping much with the ordeal. He hasn't had time to take medication for it either, which made it far worse.

As Saihara approaches the door, he shoots the supreme leader an apologetic glance. If it were his choice, he would send Iruma on her merry way and continue his conversation with Ouma. However, his mind was not going to let him turn down someone requesting him, especially someone as scary as Iruma. 

Saihara sighs as he presses the “open” button on his door’s control panel, rubbing his temples while silently wishing for the headache to pass. As the door begins to open and Iruma's black boots come into view, the detective feels an overwhelming pain come over him, one he can barely comprehend. It practically controls him, turning off his sight, speech, and body movement, leaving only his weakened hearing senses available to him. Within seconds, just as the door fully opens, his body heads for the floor, and all he can hear, barely, is the conversation between Ouma and Iruma.

“Saihara-chan!”

“Ew! Get off of me, you pervert!”

“What are you doing?! He could be hurt!”

“And how is that my fault?”

“You…! Ugh, whatever! We need to get him help! Go find someone!”

“Yeah, okay. Um… Oh, Shinguuji-kun!”

“Yes, what is it? What has happened to Saihara-kun?”

“I don't know. One minute he's opening the door, next he's grabbing for my cleavage.”

“Don't talk about him as if he's a creep! Anyways, can you help us?”

“Of course. I shall take him elsewhere so he may rest. He should be better in no time.”

_ Make him stop. Tell him I'm fine. Have someone else help me. Anyone else but him. _

_ Anyone else. _

~+~+~+~+~+~

“Idiot, I said wake up!”

Saihara is awoken when he feels a hand come into contact with his face, burning his skin. His eyes snap open instantly, and his hand flies to his cheek in shock as he yelps, painful tears gathering in his eyes as he quickly opens them.

One glance around the room tells him instantly that he’s not in his own dorm. There’s a desk stacked with mechanical tools and devices, with dirty rags scattering across the floor. A strange, metal machine sits in the middle of the chaos, almost like a mechanical centerpiece. The thick scents of fuel and grease make their way into Saihara’s nose, suffocating him. The white nightstand next to him is stained with droplets of black oil, and he sees an array of wrenches, hammers, and screwdrivers.

_ Iruma’s room? _

“Ah, finally,” a voice next to him says. He turns his head and sees the Ultimate Inventor herself sitting next to him, hands balled into fists with an irritated expression on her face.

“Iruma-san?” Saihara questions, a feeling of vexation running through his body. “Why am I-”

“Blah, blah blah,” she interrupts, mimicking his mouth with her hand. She drops it to her side once again. “I know, you’re confused. Shinguuji-kun brought you here, we talked a bit, and now you’re awake and working as my servant.”

Saihara nods. That would be the most logical conclusion to come to in this situation. Iruma clearly wouldn’t have brought him here, and Ouma, most likely, wouldn’t have the strength to carry the detective to the inventor’s room. 

But what was that last part?

“Wait… Your servant?” Saihara asks as Iruma stands up. She walks over to the closet and pulls out what appears to be a trunk.

“Yep,” she says, flipping open the lid. She begins rifling through the large box, appearing to be searching for something. “You’re gonna be my bitch today Saihara-kun.”

Saihara sits up, rubbing his head. He hadn’t noticed until now just how much it hurt. His temples lightly pounded against the side of his aching head, making him wince in pain.

_ What...happened to me? _

“Um, if you want my help with something,” Saihara says, “then you can just ask me to help you.” That was the truth. It’s not like he would turn down Iruma if she requested his assistance on something. As long as it has to do with her social and inventor life and not her sexual life, of course. “You don’t have to-”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” she shouts over him, slamming the cover of the trunk down. “Jeez, Shinguuji said you would be saying some kind of Mr. Nice-Guy thing like that. It makes you seem like a fucking wuss, you know.” 

Saihara stares at her curiously, not taking her insulting words to much account. He was used to this kind of behavior from the inventor. “What are you doing?”

Iruma sighs, standing up straight and giving the trunk a good kick, pushing it halfway back into the closet. It was clear she had no intention of putting it back yet. Clearly that was too much work for her. “What do you think? If you’re gonna wear a collar, you need a leash to go with it. Haven’t you ever seen that roleplaying shit before?”

_ Collar? _

The detective reaches for his neck, stifling a gasp when he feels leather. He leaps up from the bed and runs to the bathroom, cold sweat rolling down his face in panic. Once he sees his own reflection, he feels his heart stop. He grasps the edge of the sink, trying to remain calm, with no avail. 

A red leather collar sits on his neck, hugging his skin in an almost chokingly-tight manner. There’s a small lock on the buckle, keeping him from removing the article. It’s as if he has a prison wrapped around his body, denying his freedom.

Iruma appears behind him and raises an eyebrow. “Were you actually surprised? I would think you would notice such a kinky thing around your neck. You’re probably used to this kind of thing though.” She laughs, her joy ringing throughout the room. “I mean, yesterday you were wearing a fucking maid’s dress!”

Saihara’s brain stops. He can’t think, can’t move, can’t anything. Everything just feels so wrong, so broken. Why? Why is everything so broken? Why did this have to happen? Why was he being forced into this situation?

_ How do I get this stupid collar off? _

“If you want to get it off, you have to use the key,” Iruma says, reading his mind. She holds up her hand to reveal a silver key hanging from her pointer finger, shining with the reflection of the bathroom light. In the same hand, Saihara can see that she is gripping a black leash, one that is decorated with pink hearts. 

She drops the key into her pocket and walks up to him, calmly clipping the leash onto his collar, as if this is completely normal. Once it is fastened, she gives the cord a quick tug, making Saihara bite his lip to keep from reacting. She mumbles a satisfied “perfect” before grabbing the end of the leash, grasping it tightly in her left hand.

“Alright, this should be pretty basic,” Iruma tells him, walking out of the bathroom. Once the leash is at its maximum reach, she yanks on it hard, dragging Saihara out of the tiny room.

He yelps as the leash pulls him by the neck, forcing the air out of his system.

“So, here’s how we’re going to do things,” she announces, pulling a folded up step ladder out from underneath her bed. She begins putting it together as she continues speaking. “The deal was that you act as my servant, and do whatever I say, otherwise I get to electrocute you.”

Saihara blinks. “Electrocute?” Iruma rolls her eyes and puts her hand in her pocket. Within seconds, the collar makes a buzzing sound. 

A scream echoes throughout the room as Saihara’s frail body collapses to the floor. Electricity comes shooting out of the collar and through the detective’s neck, sending volts of energy through his veins. It continues for a few seconds before the torture comes to an end.

Iruma shrugs, seemingly unfazed by what has just transpired. “Huh. Works better than I thought it would.” She pulls her hand out of her pocket while Saihara recovers, his stomach turning wildly. He stares at the floor, shaking. His eyes slowly refocus as he coughs.

“Wh-What…was that?!” He stutters.

Iruma frowns. “What the fuck do you think it was? I told you I’d electrocute you, you fucking pleb.” She sighs, shaking her head. “Jeez, and you’re supposed to be a detective? Pretty fucking oblivious, if you ask me.” She pulls him over toward the small ladder as she continues. “It's an electroshock collar. You know, the kind they use on bitches? That's why there's the place for the leash. I just push the button on the remote in my pocket, and zap.”

Saihara looks up and notices a small metal hook hanging from the ceiling. It looks fairly new, but looks like it's been used previously.  _ Do all the rooms have these in them, or is Iruma's room an exception? _

“I don't get why that folklorist cunt decided to give me a servant,  especially one that's gonna be so useless to me,” she huffs. “A big-breasted beauty like me doesn't need help from a no-dick like you.”

“If you don't need my help with anything,” Saihara questions nervously, pushing off the insult, “then what are you going to do with me?”

Iruma smiles wickedly as she steps down from the ladder. “Nothing too special,” she says. She grasps Saihara's leash in her hand and yanks him close, their noses less than an inch from touching. As cold sweat begins forming on his forehead, she whispers into his ear, “Now, take your shirt off.”


	8. Healing

*Saihara's POV*

Saihara shifts uncomfortably, unable to get to an angle that would make him feel more relaxed. His arms feel broken, maybe even dead, like they aren't even there anymore. He would believe they were missing if not for the fact that they are keeping him from moving.

Iruma has quite the skill for tying up people. Then again, considering what kind of person she is, that's no surprise. She removed the leash from his neck, not before turning the collar around, and instead hung the handle from the hook in her ceiling. The inventor then wrapped the other end around Saihara's wrist at least five times in an infinity pattern, clipping the end of the leash right back onto his neck. The position he’s in is definitely not a good one, hanging by his arms and inch off the ground. The fact that his jacket is missing is making the entire ordeal more unsettling, leaving him in only his white undershirt.

Saihara shifts his legs uncomfortably, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Why did this all have to happen to me?” he questions aloud. Really, it has only been two days, and he already has embarrassed himself in front of half of his class, gotten a possible concussion, injured both if his legs, been locked in a closet, and gotten hung from the ceiling in Iruma's dorm. How much worse is Shinguuji planning on making things for his life?

He glances up at the time above the door.

6:27.

She should be back anytime. She was only going to be fixing up one of her previous devices at her lab, and that was two hours ago. The Ultimate Inventor had quickly mumbled something about a machine that can tell if you're aroused, or something to that degree. Whatever it was, he could live without knowing.

Saihara feels his bladder twinge, and let's out an aggravated groan. Seriously, this is cruel and unusual punishment, even for someone like Iruma. Leaving someone like this for a few minutes was something Saihara could imagine, but two hours? That's inhumane, no matter how you look at it.

The sudden sound of screeching metal directs Saihara's attention to the door, which opens slowly and noisily. Behind the door, he sees a disheveled Iruma. Her hair is poking out in a few different directions, her clothes ruffled, and she's missing the goggles that are usually perched on the top of her head. She has a blissful expression on her face, her half-opened eyes going against the loose smile she wears. 

“Hey, Maihara-chan!” She yells happily, leaning against the door frame as she hiccups. “You missed it man! Chabashira was all up on Yumeno like she was a stripper! Ha, the fucking slut…”

Saihara holds back defending his friends, knowing very well that Iruma is intoxicated out of her mind. He'd been around the people here long enough to know what does and what doesn't work when they're drunk.  _ Maihara-chan _ ? “Iruma-san, where were you?”

“In the dining hall, drinking daiquiris with the ladies,” she replies, her words slurring. She stands up and staggers toward Saihara. “Like, even HaruFUCKA was there.” She starts giggling at her own insult. “So were BAKAmatsu, CHUBBYshira, YuMANo, YoNOga, and POOmugi! And ToGROSS was there for clean up!” By the time she reaches Saihara, she's in hysterics, tears forming in her eyes from laughing so hard. Saihara does nothing but sigh, shaking his head at Iruma's childish behavior. It's conspicuous how she can make fun her friends so easily, but can't stand to be made fun of herself.

“So,” he says, changing the topic, “are you going to let me down now?”

Iruma pouts and puts her hands on her hips, her eyes shutting partially. “Why should I?”

Saihara shifts his body, trying to awaken his sleeping arms. “I’ve been up here for two hours now, and I can’t feel my arms.”

“And?”

“And I…” He bites his lips and presses his legs together lightly. “I-I…have to use the bathroom…”

Iruma seems to think about this, and as she does, a disgustingly mischievous smile crosses her face. “Oh reeeeally now?” She approaches him and pauses only inches away, leaning forward so their noses are almost touching. “Maybe I should leave you here, let you piss your pants.”

“W-What?!” He stammers, his face lighting up like a traffic light. A nervous chill runs up his spine after hearing the inventor say something so vulgar while being in such close proximity. “D-Don’t joke about something like that!”

“Who said I was joking?” Iruma questions, walking her fingers up Saihara's torso, wrapping them loosely around his neck. The detective can smell the cocktail in her breath, mixed heavily with beer and vodka. If this isn't wasted, Saihara doesn't know what is. “It would be hot, seeing the way the piss would go running down your legs, the look of pure bliss that would come across your face. It would make me wetter than you are by the time you're done.”

Saihara freezes, remembering that Iruma is drunk. “Iruma-san, stop it. I am not going to do anything to sexually please you.”

Iruma instantly backs down, walking away a few feet while wrapping her arms around her body for protection. “H-Hey, I didn't mean it Maihara-chan. I was just…just joking around, you know?” He can see her lips trembling and her eyes shining, holding back tears. After seeing her like this, he can't help but back down.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs, shaking his head at his own crass. “If you were just joking, then I guess that's fine…”

Iruma snaps her fingers, giggling lightly. “Hey, I know how to make it up to you.”

When she starts walking toward him once more, he shuts his eyes and lowers his head. He already knows Iruma is a sexual kind of drunk, and if she's asking for forgiveness, she'll do something to give it to him.

Then he's on the floor, and his windpipe is open.

“Go piss,” Iruma says, smiling widely with the collar in her hands, “and then I’ll tell you what I wanna do.”

 

~+~+~+~+~+~

 

When he walks out of the bathroom, he instantly looks away, blocking his eyesight with a hand.

Iruma lay on her bed in nothing but her lingerie. The black, lace undergarments reveal her body to the point where she might as well be naked. Her goggles are missing from their usual spot perched on her forehead. One leg is propped up, and an arm is hanging off of the bed, the other resting lightly on her heart. 

“Maihara-chan,” she calls out with a hint of arousal in her voice. “You don't have to be coy. I told you I was gonna make it up to you.”

“I’m aware, but I don't want you to make it up to me like _ that _ !” he exclaims, his eyes straying as far away as possible from Iruma. He turns around to face the bathroom once again. After a few moments of quietude, he feels a hand on his shoulder. It has almost no grip, no pressure.

“Maihara-chan, don't be like that,” Iruma mumbles. Saihara can feel her breaths on the back of his neck. “Just take your clothes off. Come have sex with me. Enjoy my beautiful, busty body.”

Saihara cringes at her request. “Iruma-san, I'm not going to have sex with you while you're wasted. You're not in your right mind to give me consent.”  _ Not that I would have sex with you  _ with  _ your consent. _

Iruma's hand wraps around Saihara's wrist, spinning his body around violently. Her eyes are full of plead. “Please, Maihara-chan! I want you! I  _ need  _ you!”

“You don't  _ want  _ me Iruma-san,” he denies, trying unsuccessfully to pull his hand out of Iruma's tight grip, “and you don't  _ need  _ me. You  _ want  _ sex.”

“No shit,” she says, pulling him closer. Saihara yelps as their bodies are suddenly pressed together, her hands pulling his face towards her. Soon, their lips are pressed against each other's, Iruma forcefully wrapping her arms around the smaller boy’s body, running them up the back of Saihara’s shirt. Her nails dig into his skin, one hand straying away to slowly moving down toward his belt. The entire time, Saihara tries to pull away, only succeeding when Iruma’s creeping hand sends his brain into hyperdrive. When he gets away from her, the force used to do so sends him falling to the ground, his back crashing hard into the nightstand behind him.

“I-Iruma-san, stop!” he yells, holding up a defensive hand. “Th-This is wrong!”

“What's wrong is that you're still wearing clothes!” Iruma retorts, grasping his wrist as she climbs onto the detective. She straddles his body, pinning his wrists to the floor as she stares at him with lust in her eyes. Her body radiates a heat that Saihara never knew could come from a person. 

Saihara shifts under her, trying to free himself in a useless attempt. He looks up at her with pleading eyes, realizing just how far this situation can go. “P-Please, stop. You don't have to do this.”

The words pour out of his mouth with a sense of familiarity. These were the exact words he said to Shinguuji yesterday morning, when the two boys had ended up in a similar positioning. Saihara had pled with the folklorist in the exact same way. At that time, however, he was begging with a man who wasn’t considered to be indecent. How could he possibly do so and be successful with a heavily vulgar drunk?

“Just get inside me already,” she breathes, leaning down towards the detective. Saihara's eyes shut painfully as he feels her lips on his once more. One hand releases his wrist and moves down his chest, fiddling with each button of his white shirt until it is undone, revealing his pale chest underneath. Despite the fact that he has a free  hand, he doesn't move; he's far too terrified to try. 

Iruma moves her hand along his skin, dancing her fingers along as if they are tiny, graceful ballerinas on stages. Saihara tightens his hands into fists, clenching his teeth together to keep any sounds of false attraction silent. Tears prick his eyes when he feels one hand undoing his belt. Drops of aroused saliva drip onto his chest from Iruma’s heavy breaths, the alcohol scent clogging the poor detective's nose.

Then Iruma collapses onto his body, motionless.

Saihara forcefully exhales as the inventor lands on his chest. Her grip on his wrist vanishes, and he uses both hands to sit himself up, which proves to be difficult with the taller girl crushing him. He lets out a few shaky breaths, blinking furiously to vanquish the tears that had formed in his eyes.

“Is Saihara-kun okay?”

Saihara glances up to see a large, long haired brunet standing before him, wearing his usual brown suit and circular spectacles. 

“Gokuhara-kun?” Saihara puzzles. Gokuhara’s the last person he thought he would see, especially after what happened yesterday in the library. The whole event seemed chaotic, and Gokuhara seemed to be apart of the laughing bunch, something completely out of character for the gentlemanly entomologist. “What are you doing here?”

“Gonta-kun,” Gokuhara corrects with a smile. He leans down and gently rolls Iruma sideways, off Saihara’s body, and onto the floor. “Gonta-kun was trying to find Saihara-kun so that he could say sorry,” Gokuhara explains. He crouches down and lifts Iruma off the ground bridal-style, turning to lay her on her bed. “Then he hear Saihara-kun yelling from Iruma-san’s room, so Gonta-kun come to see what happen.”

Saihara nods his head slowly, still out of it due to the situation he was in before Gokuhara’s arrival. “Did you knock her unconscious?” he asks with surprise. The action seems unlike the entomologist, as he usually works to avoid hurting people, whether it be physically or emotionally.

“Yes,” Gokuhara answers. He lays Iruma’s grey comforter over her body, hiding her lack of everyday clothing. He turns to Saihara and speaks with a serious expression. “Gonta-kun walk in and see Iruma-san on Saihara-kun. Saihara-kun look scared, so Gonta-kun stop Iruma-san from attacking him with her lips and hands.”

The detective laughs nervously, running a hand through his messy hair. “Y-Yeah, right.” He thinks back to what Gokuhara had said before. “Wait, you were going to apologize to me?”

Gokuhara nods, a grim look painted on his face. He offers a hand to Saihara, pulling him to his feet. Saihara staggers, his back aching along with most of his injured body, and Gokuhara grasps his shoulders to keep him from falling.

“Why are you apologizing?” Saihara questions, rubbing his back with one hand. 

“Gonta-kun laugh at Saihara-kun when he was upset,” Gokuhara elucidates, darting his eyes away from Saihara. “Doing that is not like gentleman, so Gonta-kun come to say sorry.”

Saihara feels his chest warm, a smile growing on his face. It's when this warmness comes over him that he remembers what happened with Iruma, and he looks down to see his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his torso to Gokuhara. His face reddens with embarrassment and he quickly spins around, fiddling with the tiny buttons.

“What is Saihara-kun doing?” Gokuhara inquiries.

“Iruma-san undid my shirt while she was attacking me,” Saihara explains sheepishly, beginning to button his shirt back up.

“But why Saihara-kun button shirt?”

Saihara pauses in the middle of the process. “ _ Why _ ?”

“Saihara-kun have nice skin,” Gokuhara compliments, speaking as if what he is saying is completely normal. “Gonta-kun don't get why he hide skin if skin nice.”

Saihara's cheeks are painted with blush. “W-While it's nice of you to say that, Gonta-kun,” he stammers, “it would be inappropriate for me to stay dressed this way in front of the others.”

“I understand,” Gokuhara says. “Gonta-kun sorry if he make Saihara-kun feel awkward feelings.”

“It's okay,” Saihara reassures, not turning around. He prays for the blush to go away on his face. “It just surprised me, that's all.”

“Is there any way Gonta-kun can makeup awkward feelings to Saihara-kun?”

“You don't have to make it up to me Gonta-kun,” Saihara replies, buttoning up the final button. Satisfied, he turns around to face the entomology. “You're apology is good enough. I know you didn't mean any harm.”

Gokuhara doesn't seem to believe Saihara, a troubled look on his face. “Gonta-kun need to do something to help Saihara-kun.”

“It's okay, really,” Saihara insists, shaking his head. “You don't have to--”

“Ah!” Gokuhara exclaims, snapping his fingers. “Gonta-kun call tell Saihara-kun information!”

Saihara furrows his eyebrows. “Information?”

“Gonta-kun see Amami-kun outside of room before enter,” Gokuhara elaborates. “Amami-kun holding phone up to door while door barely open. He leave when he see Gonta-kun coming.”

Saihara feels his blood run cold, his face paling in realization. “You mean…while Iruma-san was attacking me…” he gulps, “…Amami-kun was recording it?”

Gokuhara nods. “Yes, Amami-kun record Saihara-kun when Iruma-san attack him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys think I wouldn't post on Christmas? This is my gift to you all! Happy holidays!


	9. Sorrow

*Ouma’s POV*  
“Hello? Ouma-kun, are you listening?”  
Ouma blinks a few time, bringing his mind back into focus. He looks up at the astronaut talking to him, the two speaking as they make their way to the dining hall. Nobody else appears to be around, all busy with their own activities for the evening.  
“Of course I am,” he replies, smiling sweetly at Momota.  
Momota sighs, rolling his eyes. “Fine, I'll say it again. When I asked about Shuuichi-kun while you guys were in my room, you told me that someone took his clothes while he was in the locker room, right?”  
“Shuuichi-kun?” Ouma repeats his friend's name, slightly confused. “You call him by his given name?”  
“Yeah,” Momata replies with a shrug. “I got his permission last night. We’re on a first name basis now.”  
Ouma feels a pang of jealousy, something that he finds odd in himself. His whole body tenses, trying to make the strange feeling fade from his mind. Why am I jealous? Why should I be jealous? Why am I jealous? “Huh,” he replies intelligently, teeth together.  
“Don’t change the topic on me though,” Momota says. “You said someone took Shuuichi-kun’s clothes, right?”  
“Did I?” Ouma calls back to the memory, remembering his excuse that he had made for Saihara. After a second, he shrugs. “I guess I did.”  
“But you were lying, weren't you?” Ouma stays silent, unsure of what to say, which surprises himself. Anything he says to try and cover up will hurt Saihara, which is something he'd never want to do. But what does he say to Momota? Another lie? The truth?  
What is the truth?  
“Listen, I'll tell you what I told Shuuichi-kun,” Momota says, slowing down his walking speed. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on, and I won't interfere unless you guys are in danger.” Ouma feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns around and sees Momota with a determined smile on his face. “Know that every burden is easier to carry when you have another shoulder to carry it on, okay?”   
“Trust me, I know,” Ouma mutters. “I wish Saihara-chan knew that too.”  
“Ah, so this stems from Shuuichi-kun,” Momota pieces together. “What's the problem?”  
“I don't know!” Ouma storms, throwing his hands up. “He won’t tell me, and it’s infuriating!”  
Momota doesn’t try to calm him down. Instead, he simply exhales, shaking his head. “You’re his friend, right?” Ouma nods. “Then don’t you think that you should respect his privacy?”  
Ouma is about to retort, but ends up sighing, knowing well enough that Momota is right. “I know. Believe me, I know that I should, but… I just can’t help but be worried about him. I don’t want to see him like this.”  
Momota doesn’t say anything for a moment. In that moment, his eyebrows raise in curiosity, and his eyes widen in realization. “Wait, do you like Shuuichi-kun?”  
He gets laughter as a response. “That’s funny Momota-kun. No, I don’t like Saihara-chan that way.”  
“I never asked if you liked him that way. I asked if you liked him.”  
If he didn’t know any better, Ouma would think his heart has stopped. His blood runs cold. He can feel the nervous beads of sweat covering his forehead, and his hands tremble slightly. However, he doesn't allow himself to overreact. Instead, he flashes Momota a smile, crossing his shaky arms over his chest. “Yes, I do like him. How could I call him my friend if I didn't?”  
“I have a feeling this goes deeper than friendship,” Momota theorizes, his grin teasing.  
Suddenly, Ouma is extremely close to Momota’s face, only centimeters away from their noses touching. “Maybe it's you that I like, Momota-kun,” he says, his voice deep and seductive. “How could I resist such an attractive man like you?  
Momota’s face pales. “W-Wait, that's not--"  
Ouma jumps back, beaming. “Just kidding!” He chuckles, turning around to continue walking towards the dining hall. “And yes,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “I like Saihara-chan. He's my friend. No more, no less.”  
Momota drops the subject, and stays silent the rest of the way to the dining hall. Once they arrive, they find the room empty, just as Ouma had suspected it would be. They sit down, Ouma taking his seat at the head of the table, and talk about nothings, no set topic in mind. They just talk about anything that they can think of. Ouma would have never been able to see himself talking like this with someone, let alone Momota. They've never been the closest people in the academy. Then again, Ouma has never actually been close with anybody in the academy, so this is a nice change of pace. Of course, Ouma will never admit it to anyone in his lifetime.  
“Ah, Momota-kun and Ouma-kun!”  
The duo turn their attention towards the door to see Gokuhara walk in, seemingly fine as always. The only difference today is that the smile that usually sits on the entomologist’s face is nowhere to be seen. He enters the kitchen, mostly disappearing from Momota and Ouma’s line of vision.  
Momota smiles warmly. “What's up Gokuhara-kun?”  
“Gonta-kun,” Gokuhara calls out. Ouma hears one of the cupboards shut. “Gonta-kun stressed out, so he come to dining room for snack.”  
Ouma’s eyebrows furrow. “What's stressing you out?”  
“Saihara-kun attacked in his room by Iruma-san,” he replies. “Gonta-kun knock her asleep to help Saihara-kun.”  
Ouma launches to his feet. Alarm courses through his body. “Iruma-san attacked Saihara-chan!?”  
Momota stands up, grabbing Ouma’s shoulder and pulling him back into his chair. “Gonta-kun, is he okay? Iruma-san didn't hurt him too badly, did she?”  
“No, Saihara-kun okay,” he answers, much to Ouma's relief. “She attack him with her lips and hands. He no get hurt.”  
And his blood boils. Ouma can feel the anger fill in his body like water fills a glass. Here's the thing about water in a glass: if it gets to much water in it, it will pour over and, if not stopped, create a disaster.  
“What the hell did she do to him!?” Ouma yells in fury. If it were possible, his eyes likely would be on fire with how angry he is. His hands are immediately curled into angry, protective fists  
Gokuhara peers in the dining room and his expression becomes worried. “Ouma-kun, please no be angry. Iruma-san sleeping, so she no hurt Saihara-kun. Iruma-san have strange drink scent in her mouth.”  
Momota stands once again, grabbing Ouma's shoulder, but not pulling him back down. “Ouma-kun, she was drinking with everyone else last night. If she was drunk, you can't put all the blame on her. She wasn’t in her right mind.”  
Ouma feels his pulse going wild with worry, and his body is visibly shaking just with the thought of Iruma doing something like that to Saihara, but he knows that Momota is right. He sits down resignedly, resting his chin into his hand, keeping his head held up with his elbow.  
“Gonta-kun do not want trouble to happen,” Gokuhara says, walking out of the kitchen, four apples in his hand. “He hopes everything work out for Saihara-kun.” With one last smile, the entomologist leaves the kitchen, and the original duo is left by themselves.  
Ouma groans and shifts his hand to the side, letting his head hit the table’s surface. “What the hell is going on with him?”  
“Shuuichi-kun is probably having a bad day,” Momota offers.  
“Have you seen everything he's gone through in just two days?” Ouma challenges, not looking up. “This isn't normal Momota-kun.”  
Ouma hears Momota pull out a chair. “Listen Ouma-kun. I know you care about Shuuichi-kun for… some reason, but you have to respect his privacy, okay?” His voice is dripping with dismay. “Trust me, I want to know what’s going on just as much as you do. He’s my friend too. But we can’t force him to tell us if he isn’t ready to. Just like how you don’t want to tell me about your glaringly obvious crush on him.”  
Ouma’s head shoots up and he lets out an overly dramatic sigh. “I don’t have a crush on Saihara-chan. I just care about him, okay?”  
“Ouma-kun, you’ve been going to this school with me for three years. Since when have you ever cared about someone else here?”  
He about to retort, but the words don’t form. Instead, he’s left with his lips parted, racking his brain for some kind of response. He can’t deny something that’s true, can he? That for the first time in his school life, he wants someone to be okay? That he truly cares about someone who goes to Kawari no High School?  
When no argument comes to mind, he sighs dejectedly. “People change.”  
“Yeah, but you don’t,” Momota points out. “I’m just saying. It’s weird.”  
“So are you.” Smiles cross the boys’ faces, and he hears Momota chuckle.  
“Yeah, yeah, and as dumb as a bag of hammers,” he says. “I hear it all the time, trust me.” He places a hand on Ouma’s shoulder, and his demeanour appears to completely change. It’s serious, but gentle, like a mother talking to her child. “I’m serious though. Shuuichi-kun is strong. He’ll figure everything out, okay? Things have a way of sorting themselves out. He just needs the right people around to push him along.”  
Ouma smiles. That’s one of the good things about Momota-kun: he can bring up anyone’s spirits with his wise words. The right people can push him along.  
A thought strikes him cold.  
“Do you think someone is doing this to him? ” he mumbles, staring off.  
Momota retracts his arm. “What now?”  
“Saihara-chan isn't the kind to tell nobody about his troubles,” he says softly, talking more to himself. “Especially not you. Someone's making him stay quiet.”  
Momota chuckles and says, “Ouma-kun, you can't just blame someone else for--"  
“But that makes sense to me,” Ouma interrupts. “You told me that the right people will push him in the right direction. But what if the wrong people are pushing him in the wrong direction?”  
Momota sighs, pinching between his eyes. “Ouma-kun, even if this is happening, we can't do anything about it. We're in a school, remember? There's only so much that could be done to prevent this.”  
Ouma's feelings sink. “So, we can't do anything?” Momota shakes his head, his mouth in a tight grimace. “And you won't help me find the person doing this?”  
“There may not be anyone doing this,” Momota says, avoiding the questioning. “Asking around will raise questions, and that will only cause more trouble for Shuuichi-kun.”  
It feels as if the confidence is physically being sucked from Ouma's veins. He knows that Momota is, as he has be literally all evening, right about this. He can't hurt Saihara any more than he's already been.  
“Ouma-kun, please don’t do anything,” Momta requests. “Promise me that you’ll stay out of the situation. For Shuuichi-kun’s sake.”  
Ouma nods in agreement. “I promise.”  
Momota smiles. “Good. Thank you, Ouma-kun.” He stretches out his arms and looks up at the wall. Ouma follows his gaze.  
7:12pm  
“Well, this has been fun,” Momota says, getting up from him chair, “but I gotta go meet up with Harumaki. She's gonna teach me about crossbows and all that.” He sighs blissfully. “What a girl, am I right?”  
“Yeah, I guess,” Ouma agrees. “Have fun with her. Don't lose any limbs.”  
“I'll try not to,” he chuckles. Just before he leaves, Momota places a firm hand on Ouma’s shoulder, shaking it lightly before making his way out of the dining hall. That only leaves the small boy, who is seeming lost in thought. He lets out a sigh, looking down at his lap, at the hand that sits in it. His mind has been made up from the start, and nothing would be changing it. Not even Momota.  
“I'm sorry, Momota-kun,” he says, uncrossing his middle and pointer finger as he checks to make sure Momota has fully vacated. Once sure, he smiles, looking back down at his hand with a depressed sigh. “But I'm a pretty good liar, aren't I?”


	10. Uneasy

*Ouma's POV*

“Saihara-chan?” Ouma calls, knocking on the door to Saihara's dorm room. “Are you there?”

It's been maybe a little over 24 hours since him and Saihara have spoken last, the last time being yesterday morning in his room. Nothing interesting in particular happened during that break in time. All he did was pace through the same hall repeatedly, maybe a thousand times or so, thinking about all of his classmates. He’d hoped to figure out who’s the one doing these things to Saihara.

_ Iruma? She tried to have her way with him in her room. But she seemed surprised when she saw him in the library. Was she faking? _

_ Chabashira? She hates guys, right? Would she be willing to stoop so low to hurt one? Although, that kind of behavior could be against her teachings. _

_ Yumeno? …She's just too lazy. _

_ Akamatsu? Impossible. She would never do something like that to Saihara. They're too close. She's too kind. _

_ Yonaga? She follows a strange religion that makes her do weird things to other people. Would she be willing to do all of this for her religion? _

_ Toujou? That's hard to believe, too. She's like the mother of our class. She wouldn't hurt Saihara. _

_ Harukawa? Wouldn't she kill him before making him look like an idiot? She's an assassin. She was trained to kill efficiently, not sadistically. _

_ Shirogane? She complimented the outfit he was wearing, and told him what was wrong with it. As a dedicated cosplayer, would she really let the uniform fit him improperly? _

_ Hoshi? Could he even have that kind of power over Saihara? He doesn't seem like he wants to hurt anyone but himself… _

_ Gokuhara? Of course not. _

_ Kiibo? He was making fun of Saihara when he found him, but that's because he didn't know better. He's a robot after all. Are there those rules of robots or whatever? He can't hurt people, can he? _

_ Amami? He's a mysterious person that we don't know much about. Would he actually hurt Saihara? But he was with them in the library, wasn't he? He was quiet the entire time though. Why does he have to be such an enigma? _

_ Shinguuji? He does weird things, yeah, but hurting someone? He says creepy things and talks about the dead and stuff, but actually forcing the things he does onto a student? Would he actually? _

_ Momota? But Momota was helping Saihara, wasn't he? There's no way. _

_ …Saihara? _

Just the thought of it makes his blood run cold.  _ Is he doing these things to himself? But he looks in pain. Is he into that sort of thing? Public humiliation? Uniform? Pain? _

Ouma's face blushes when he realizes what he's thinking about. “Stop that,” he says, chastising himself. “Don't think about him like that. He's your friend.” The word ‘friend’ lingers on his tongue, almost teasing him. He bites down on his tongue, hoping to make it stop, only to send a swelling pain through his mouth. After a moment of rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he knocks on the door once again.

“Saihara-chan? Are you awake?”

“I've been awake for a few hours now.”

Ouma jumps when he hears a voice behind him and he spins around to see the detective with a weak smile on his face. His eyes look terribly sad.

“Oh, right. It's like, nine, isn't it? You usually wake up at seven.”

Saihara let's out a soft laugh. “You keep track of my sleeping better then I do.”

“Of course! I care about my beloved Saihara-chan!” He beams at the detective.

Saihara sighs, walking past Ouma and towards the door of his room. “Why do you even call me that? It's not like we're that close.”

Ouma places his hand on his heart dramatically, letting out a loud gasp. “Not that close? But your my best friend, Saihara-chan!”

“I find that hard to believe,” Saihara argues, pushing the button to open his door. “We barely knew each other before yesterday. Even with that, I still don't really know you.”

Ouma frowns. This isn't how Saihara acts. Saihara would agree, or make some kind of witty remark on the matter, not just outright deny it.

“Saihara-chan?”

“Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

Saihara turns around, looking at Ouma with eyes that could kill. “Why?”

“Well, you don't seem like yourself. You seem more--”

“Upset?” Saihara interrupts in an accusing tone of voice. “Depressed? Angry?” He sighs, leaning his back against the wall seemingly defeated. His head leans back against the wall, his eyes closed. “Broken?”

“...You know, you can tell me anything.”

Saihara looks down at Ouma with perplexed eyes. “Huh?”

“I'm your friend,” Ouma elaborates. “I may not be a close one, but I am one. As such, I want you to know that no matter what, you can tell me anything.”

There's a look of contemplation on Saihara's face. It's almost as if he wants to tell Ouma something, something important. But Saihara doesn't tell him. Instead, he silently turns back towards the door as it finishes opening, stepping into the room.

“It's been nice talking, Ouma-kun,” he says, “but I'm busy. We should talk later. Maybe tomorrow.” He presses the button to close the door. There's a creaking sound from the top of the door, and it begins to slide shut.

Ouma feels something similar to panic rising in his body.  _ Not yet. _

He presses the button to reopen the door, a loud screeching sound echoing through the hall. Saihara turns around with a surprised expression on his face. He doesn't try to shut the door again.

“Ouma-kun?” Saihara inquiries, raising an eyebrow.

“So, Momota-kun and I were thinking of hosting a bit of a gathering,” Ouma makes up on the spot, allowing the words to pour out of his mouth into any form they wish. “It would be kind of strange for a gathering to have only two people. Why don't you join us?”

Saihara blinks a few times, as if he's trying to process the words Ouma is saying to him. He seems to consider the offer before sighing, stepping back out of his room. “What time do you want me to meet you?”

Ouma has to stop himself from jumping with joy. “Around two, my dorm, okay? That way we have time to actually do things instead of laying around all day. Is that okay?”

Saihara nods dismissively. “Yeah, sure. Just…can we relax for a while? Nothing crazy, right?”

“Of course, Saihara-chan!” Ouma exclaims. “We don't want you hurting that pretty head of yours any further.”

Saihara's eyes roll, a hint of blush appear on his cheeks “Okay, sure.” He then smiles, seeming genuinely happy for a moment. “Thank you, Ouma-kun.” 

“You don't need to thank me,” Ouma replies. “It's no problem.”

~~~~~~~

“What the actual hell, Ouma-kun?”

“I panicked!” Ouma quickly explains. Him and Momota stand in Ouma's room, Ouma running around and getting things ready. There's nothing really to get done, mostly getting the extra pillows from his closet and putting them on the bed, as well as repositioning the TV. Even so, Ouma feels like he's preparing for a wedding: everything has to be perfect.

“How did you panic this badly?” Momota questions, throwing himself down on the bed, laying on his back with his arms spread out. “I'm all for hanging with Shuuichi-kun, trust me, but lying like that isn't cool.”

“He's having a rough time,” Ouma elaborates, throwing a pillow at Momota from the closet door. “It wouldn't be good for him to lock himself away in his room. I didn't want him to shut himself out.”

Momota sits up and lays the pillow across his lap, folding his arms over it. “Listen, I get what you're trying to do, and it's honestly really weird and  _ very  _ unlike you, but the fact remains that you lied to him, and you dragged me into it, too.”

“Your point?”

The astronaut sighs. “You can't force someone to be happy, Ouma-kun. Whatever he's dealing with is weird to say the least, but from what I’ve seen, it’s pretty tough on him. If he needs time to deal, give him time. You can't push the problem away or speed up the process.”

Ouma pauses, staring at the now-closed door of his closet. His hand lingers on the doorknob as he processes Momota’s words. “If you ask someone to dance with you even though they don't know how to dance, and that person says yes, what does that mean?”

Momota blinks, seemingly confused. “I’m sorry, what now?”

“It means that regardless of the fact that they can't dance, they still want to try to,” Ouma explains, turning to face Momota with an expression made of stone. “They might even being hoping to learn to dance by doing this. It's the same principle. Saihara-chan wants to be around us, but doesn't know how to ask after all of this has happened, so we have to make the first move.”

Momota seems to consider this. After a few moments, he responds with, “What if it's the opposite way?”

“Meaning?”

“Let's say it's the same scenario, you asking a person who can't dance to dance with you,” Momota says. “They say yes. But what if they're not saying yes for themselves, but for you?”

“I don't understand,” Ouma admits, puzzled.

“What if they only said yes to dancing because they wanted you to be happy?” Momota asks. “They might be completely against dancing, but only say yes to make you happy. It's the same with Shuuichi-kun.” He shrugs, intertwining his hands in front of him. “Maybe he only said yes because he wants you to be happy.”

Momota’s idea floats around in Ouma's head for a bit. He never even considered that Saihara didn't want to be with them, that he would rather be alone. Even so, that seems incorrect in Ouma's brain.

“No,” Ouma says, shutting down Momota’s hypothetical. “He would have said he wanted to be alone. He always does.” He nods his head, as if he's agreeing with the words pouring from his lips. “He's struggling, and he needs someone. I want to be that someone for him, okay?”

There's this silence that sits in the room for a few moments. Ouma's words sink in with both of the boys, especially with Ouma himself. They sound so foreign, so genuine and caring, so uncharacteristically loving. It's this string of words that makes Momota say, “Wow, you really have a crush on him, don't you?”

“Momota-kun!” Ouma practically yells with exasperation. Momota laughs. 

“Kidding, kidding,” he reassures. “Honestly, seeing you care about someone is refreshing. I wish you cared about me like you care about Shuuichi-kun.”

Ouma shrugs, turning back to continue working. Before he can middle any progress, however, there's a soft knock at his door. The supreme leader looks up at his clock and reads that it's almost a quarter past two. 

“Saihara-chan is here,” Ouma announces, his voice burdening frantic. He almost sprints to the door, and before he opens it, he turns to look at Momota. “How's my hair?”

"Why do you care?"

"Just answer the question!"

“...Stupid as always,” Momota replies, giving his friend the “okay" symbol and a cheesy smile. Ouma rolls his eyes as he clicks the button to open the door. The annoying sound of metal on metal fills the area as the door creaks open. It moves upwards to reveal Saihara standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” the noiret greets, puts on what Ouma could only guess is a smile. Instantly, the supreme leader takes notes on Saihara's person, and the things he notes aren't good ones. He appears extremely tense, and his face is lightly dusted red. There are small beads of sweat just at his hairline, and looks like he's struggling to smile.

Ouma doesn't point these things out, of course. “Saihara-chan! Blessed with your presence, now aren't we?”

Saihara chuckles. “Sure, I guess. So, what are we doing?”

Ouma beckons him in, which Saihara does, doing so at a slower rate than usual, his steps seemingly hesitant. “We're just gonna watch some movies,” Ouma explains. “Have some of that ‘bonding time’ everyone talks about.”

“Sounds fun,” Saihara says. He takes a seat on the bed, smiling at Momota. “How are you, Mo-- Um, Kaito-kun?”

Ouma feels the sting of jealousy when the word leaves Saihara’s mouth. How he craves a relationship like the one Saihara and Momota possess. Any sort of closer relationship with Saihara would be fantastic, to say the least. Not that the relationship has to be romantic. Even Saihara's trust in him would be enough.

“Fine,” Momota shrugs. “Nothing much happening in my life besides my date with Harumaki. What about you?”

“I'm fine,” Saihara replies. Instantly, Ouma's faux smile vanishes. Saihara has never been the best liar, at least by Ouma's standards. His nervous ticks are clear as day, from his sideways glances to the subtle twitching of his ring finger. You can't lie to a professional liar, not with giveaways as obvious as these.

Saihara shifts a little bit on the bed, his face subtly shading a darker red. Ouma raises his eyebrow curiously at this as Saihara asks, “So, what are we watching?”

Momota shrugs, pulling the stack of DVDs off of the nightstand. “I was thinking something scary. What about you?”

Saihara's expression blanks, and his eyes dart away. He scratches at his wrist gently and says, “Yeah, sounds good.”

The worry Ouma has been feeling slowly turns into recognition. The red face, the tenseness, and the hesitation all are familiar to him. Not exactly on Saihara himself, but on other people. Why it's familiar, he doesn't know. He can't quite put his finger on it. Instead of mentioning it, however, a completely different sentence comes out of Ouma's mouth:

“Let's start the movie."

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have never actually seen the building that V3 takes place in, I've only seen what the characters look like and what the rooms look like, so I'm sorry if I got something wrong.
> 
> Literally I only know what the rooms look like and the basics of the characters, such as that Saihara is kind of shy and soft-spoken, Shinguji is kind of creepy, and Amami is...Well, Amami. I'm kinda guessing here, so I'm sorry for inaccuracies.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed :)


End file.
